


Apple Juice

by frostfall (orphan_account)



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-17 14:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: Tired of watching his friends dance around each other, Chester hatches a plan to finally get them together because really, it’s for everybody’s own peace of mind and especially theirs. And he has the perfect plan to ensure they do – by concocting a love potion. But magic is hardly foolproof and Chester soon finds himself stuck in a predicament of his own making.





	1. Basketball Injuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place during the recording of 'Minutes to Midnight'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _There’s something going on between them_ , Chester thinks as he absentmindedly tosses the basketball at Dave’s direction.

It isn’t the first time such a thought has crossed his mind. Heck, it has happened one too many times these past few months. Too often, in Chester’s opinion.

Ever since they gathered to start work on the new album, they’ve been attached to the hip. Hell ever since _he_ came back from tour, they’ve been in constant contact.

Which shouldn’t be as strange as Chester’s making it out to be. After all, they’ve been best friends since they were kids. It makes sense that best friends would be hanging out together, right?

At first, it didn’t bother him. Chester has never been bothered by Mike and Brad’s relationship at all. He knows very well how much Mike valued Brad and vice-versa.

But then Mike suddenly stopped talking to Chester outside of anything work-related. Which in turn, means Mike ditched him for Brad. And frankly, it fucking frustrates him.

Chester exhales loudly, watching Joe trying to block Dave’s attempt at a basket. The ball bounces off the court, sending both of them and Rob in a frenzy as they run after it. 

He should get his head out of his ass, chase after them, and focus on the game at hand. But Chester seemed to find focusing pretty difficult today, not when he knows that Mike and Brad are hanging out in the mansion. 

Alone. Right now.

It shouldn’t mean anything. Mike and Brad has hung out on their own a lot. Chester knows that. They’ve been doing this for years, many more before Chester walked into their lives too. 

But the past few weeks have been weird because Brad would shoot Mike these strange looks when Mike wasn’t paying attention and they’d be huddled together whispering something and then Mike would throw his head back and laugh and goddamn if only Chester could drink. He’ll need something strong to deal with whatever that’s brewing between Mike and Brad. 

He definitely would’ve ran off to the nearest bar had he not promised Mike he wouldn’t go back down that road. And when Chester makes promises, he makes sure he does his best to not break them, especially when it comes to Mike. 

It isn’t like Chester hates the idea of Mike and Brad together or even possess feelings for each other. Hell, he’ll be the one to say, ‘I told you so’ should they reveal their secret relationship or their feelings or whatever. Them being together? Makes perfect sense.

But he hates that it’d be at the expense of Chester’s friendship with Mike.

“Where the hell did it go?!” Joe yells, his voice faraway. None of his friends are in sight, possibly in search for the missing basketball.

Chester chews at the bottom of his lip. He really should go and help them out. Knowing them, they’d probably call him out for being a lazy ass or some shit when they return.

Which he’s not. At all.

But Mike. _Fucking Mike._

If he doesn’t know better, Chester would’ve figured Mike isn’t used to returning to being a part of Linkin Park after donning his Fort Minor hat.

But Mike didn’t tossed him aside when they were apart. In fact, Mike would constantly hound him, asking for opinions that Chester deems himself too unqualified to give.

His white ass knowing an inkling of hip-hop? Not in a million years.

As frustrated as he felt about his incompetence, Chester didn’t mind though. After all, it’s Mike and when Mike calls at 2.30 am freaking out on whether he should use past or present tense in his lyrics, Chester picks up without any hesitation. No questions asked.

Hell, they’ve been fine during the early stages of the recording of the album. It’s only recently Mike just stopped being him. Around Chester anyway.

Chester initially blamed it all on the producing Mike has decided to undertake this time. But that theory went completely out the window when he noticed Mike interacting with everybody else.

And B—

Something hardy whacks the side of his forehead, snapping Chester out of his reverie in the most painful way possible.

“Ow, fuck!” he exclaims, his eyes fluttering shut as searing pain spreads through his forehead. His hand flies up to cover the sore spot, a slight bulge forming under his palm.

Well, fuck. Another injury to add to his ever-growing collection of injuries.

At least now he can check off “getting hit by a basketball” off his bucket list. If only somebody could whack him with a baseball bat right now, then he’ll have two off his list.

“Shit!” Dave exclaims, his voice loud and clear as the sound of footsteps abruptly die. “Are you okay? Holy shit, I told you not to do that.”

“How was I supposed to know it was gonna hit him?” Joe whines, the apparent culprit. Chester shouldn’t feel as unsurprised as he is.

When he finally gathers his bearings, he’ll definitely kick his ass. Doesn’t matter that Joe’s his friend. He will kick his ass. Chester may have skinny legs but boy, do they do the trick.

“Actually,” Rob points out. “You did. You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t mean to.”

Chester’s eyelids flutter open to Dave’s concerned gaze and Rob’s annoyed look trained on Joe’s sheepish grin.

Joe tilts his head from side to side. “Well…yeah. But I guess I underestimated how much it’d hurt.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Guys,” Dave interrupts, tossing them an exasperated glare. “Not important. Let’s just go back inside and get Chester an ice pack and _then_ debate on the morality of throwing a basketball at somebody.”

Chester suppresses a groan. One of the reasons why he hates getting injured besides the mind-numbing agony is the concern he draws. Sure, it’s nice that everybody’s concerned for him. He’s glad that he’s surrounded by people who finally give a shit about him.

But holy shit, he isn’t made out of fucking glass. It’s just a head injury, not a relapse for fuck’s sake. And he’s an adult. He could deal with a little pain. It wasn’t like he has a concussion or amnesia or some serious shit.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Rob asserts.

“But I am,” Chester insists.

Dave gestures to the injured area with his chin. “May I?”

Chester shrugs his shoulders, lifting his own palm.

Dave hums, his gaze gliding over the spot. “Looks fine. Just a slight bulge. Probably still need ice.” He turns his head to the side, his tone switched to a more icier one. “And an apology.”

Rob nudges Joe with his elbow. Joe flashes Chester an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I was just trying to get your attention.”

“That was a shit way to do it,” Chester says as his injury continues to throb, the pain intensifying.

“Yeah, it was. But you were spacing out during a game.”

Chester flips him off in response, eliciting snickers from his other two friends.

Unsympathetic asshole. Joe’s notorious for being terrible at apologizing, choosing humor and deflection instead. Chester knows Joe meant what he said, even if it doesn’t seem like it. That’s Joe Hahn for you.

But holy shit, it’s a trait Chester loathes.

If Mike’s here, he wouldn’t be laughing this shit off. He would immediately switch to Mother Hen Mode and try to comfort Chester or cart him off to the hospital.

Sure, Chester hates it when Mike’s being all overbearing because he’s not glass but he’ll take overbearing over being a dick anyway.

Or maybe Mike wouldn’t be like that. Not anymore anyway. After all, Mike seems to only acknowledge Chester’s presence when he needs him.

“—and get’cha head in the game, man.”

Chester cocks his eyebrow in disbelief, having only caught those last few words. “Wait, did you just quote what I think you just did?”

Joe grins gleefully, nodding his head. Chester groans inwardly.

Don’t get him wrong, High School Musical is fine. It’s a good guilty pleasure movie and the singing wasn’t so bad. It’s the kind of movie you play as white noise while you do spring cleaning, which for Chester, isn’t necessarily a horrible thing.

But people are making it out like it’s the best thing since sliced bread, which is totally wrong and they need to take a reality check. Or fifty. Joe definitely needs at least five hundred.

“It’s a phrase,” Dave says. “Why would Joe quote that stupid movie?”

Rob snickers in response. Joe’s lips part, offended.

“Hey, that movie’s great,” he says defensively. “Just because Olivia Newton-John isn’t in it, doesn’t mean it’s shit.”

“Yeah, but High School Musical’s a rip-off of Grease,” Rob points out. “Like High School Musical’s whole storyline is almost a complete carbon copy of Grease.”

“Not all rip-offs are shit though.”

“Unfortunately for you, High School Musical’s a shitty rip-off. A dollar-store Grease.”

Chester’s about to add his two cents into this needless and pointless conversation when another wave of pain hits him. “Ow, fuckin’ hell.”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Okay, guys. That’s enough horsing around. We’ve probably made it worse standing around.”

Before Chester could protest for the thousandth time today that _he’s fucking fine so stop babying him_ , he’s cut off by a voice calling them in the distance.

Oh, hell. He recognizes that voice. And that nest of a hair. He could recognize both of them anywhere.

Which means _he_ would be right at his heels.

“Hey, Mike and I are going to get—” Brad cuts himself off, frowning at Chester. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Nobody has time to answer because Mike has pushed everybody to the side to stand right in front of Chester.

Yup, Mike’s here. In the flesh, dressed in his typical plaid and jeans getup. With Brad. Probably stopped making out to wonder if Chester hadn’t died of old age yet.

Just what he needs right now.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes, worry etched on his face. It’s the most expressive reaction Chester has managed to elicit out of Mike this past two weeks. “Are you okay? What the hell happened? Who—? Never mind. C’mon, let’s go.”

Chester doesn’t have time to protest because Mike has his fingers around Chester’s wrist, dragging him away from their bandmates and back into the mansion.

To say Chester finds the whole ordeal odd is an understatement. After all, Mike has spent the last two weeks giving him the cold shoulder. And now here he is being all motherly and friendly and concerned?

_Really?_

But he’ll be a liar if he doesn’t say that he relished in the sudden change of heart. Even if it pisses him off at the same time.

“You guys should’ve went back inside as soon as you got him,” Mike scolds as they enter the building, the rush of the air-conditioner greeting Chester’s clammy skin. “The blood might’ve clot with you guys standing around. Hell, we might need to take you to the hospital and—”

“I’m fine,” Chester cuts him off. “I don’t know why you guys are freaking out. I get injured all the time.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “But still, injuries are injuries.”

Chester wants to protest further but holds his tongue at the last minute. After all, Mike will be walking back into Brad’s outstretched arms and forgetting about him any second now. Might as well savor this while he can.

He hops onto the kitchen island, watching Mike yank the freezer door open and reaching inside.

“Here,” Mike says, dropping the ice pack onto his lap. Good thing Chester’s wearing underwear today because his dick wouldn’t appreciate being iced.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, pressing the pack onto his forehead. A quiet hiss tumbles out of his lips at the contact, his other hand gripping the edge of the countertop tightly.

They don’t speak for the next several seconds, both of them looking at anywhere but each other. It’s been a long time since Chester’s found himself sharing awkward silence with Mike.

A part of him is expecting Mike to throw out some weird ass excuse to get out of the room like he has done the past weeks, use Brad’s name as justification. Instead, Mike whips his head up suddenly, quickly shutting the freezer door.

A snort escapes Chester before he could stop himself. Mike’s gaze darts back to him.

“What?” he asks, quiet but unsure.

Chester shrugs. “Nothing. I just thought it was cute. You forgetting to shut the door.”

Mike’s cheeks darken at that. He clears his throat, gaze pointed down on his shoes.

Chester’s brow creases. Mike’s acting really weirdly. Usually when Chester throws out a compliment, Mike would reciprocate, maybe even sprinkle a joke or two.

But here he is with arms crossed and eyes glued to the ground and Chester hates this. He really does.

“What happened?” Mike suddenly asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Chester shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing really. I was just thinking ‘bout stuff. Joe thought it’ll be a great idea to get my attention by hitting me with the ball. Apparently he forgot he can talk.”

Mike heaves a sigh. “Fucking Joe. Typical.” He rakes a hand through what’s left of his hair, which Chester personally hates. Chester likes Mike with longer and messier hair. Mike without hair is like peanut butter without jelly. Or Mickey and Minnie. Or Simon and Garfunkel. It just doesn’t make sense.

Okay, maybe not Simon and Garfunkel. They don’t really get along so that’d defeat the purpose of Chester’s analogy.

“Did he apologize? I swear if he didn’t—”

“Yeah, he did,” Chester answers quickly, figuring where this conversation is leading towards. “And no, I’m not covering up for him so don’t go hounding him about it, okay? It’s just a basketball.”

“That could’ve given you a concussion.”  
  
“But it didn’t,” Chester counters firmly. “so let’s just forget about it.”

Mike’s eyes narrow. “But were you playing or watching or—?”

“Playing.” Mike shoots him a knowing look. Chester rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know I shouldn’t have been daydreaming during a game. But that doesn’t mean I deserved to get hit by a basketball.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mike says, his arms returning to his side. “It’s just that you don’t usually space out, especially during basketball.” His features soften. “Did… Did something happen?”

Chester freezes up, the ice pack he’s gripping hovers over his forehead.

Is there something wrong? Is there something _wrong_?

Of course there fucking is. Mike has barely acknowledged his presence outside the studio, he may be fucking Brad without telling Chester (which okay, shouldn’t be a reason because it’s none of Chester’s business even if they are friends), Chester got nailed by a basketball, and— and Mike wants to know how he’s doing?

“You know you could talk to me,” Mike continues, taking a step towards Chester. “I’m always here. If you wanna talk.”

Chester whips his head up, the fire at the pits of his stomach stoked.

“Talk to you?” Chester asks bitterly, the words tumbling out of his lips before he could stop himself. “How the hell am I supposed to talk to you when you’ve been ignoring me for the past couple of weeks?”

For a split second, panic washes over Mike’s face, disappearing in a blink of an eye. But it’s long enough for Chester to register it.

So he _is_ being conscious of side-lining Chester.

_Holy fucking shit._

Did Chester do something wrong? Did he say something insulting to Mike without knowing? Was Mike still wounded over all the shit he put him through during his drug-addicting days? Did he—

“Hey, Mikey!” Brad’s voice calls from a distance, making Mike and Chester jump apart. “You done?”

Chester mentally swears as he presses the ice pack harder against his head.

Of course Brad would come and break up the only time Mike decides Chester was worth talking to. Of course Brad would swing by just when Chester has Mike where he wants him to be.

Of fucking course.

Oh, what he’ll give to strangle that son of a bitch. He doesn’t care that Brad’s his friend or the guitarist of the band. He will get him for this. Maybe on the next April Fool’s Day or Hanukkah.

Maybe.

Mike’s eyelids blink rapidly, as if he’s been snapped out of a trance. His gaze trails reluctantly from Chester, to the direction of Brad’s voice. “In the kitchen!”

Okay, now Chester wanted to strangle Mike too for seizing an opportunity to avoid the subject.

“Hey, you two,” Brad greets, popping his head into the kitchen. “You guys doing alright?”

Chester nods his head stiffly, not meeting his eyes. “Fine.”

If Brad notices Chester’s sudden curtness, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge. Instead, his gaze shifts to Mike. “You still coming or you wanna hang with Chester?”

Mike sneaks a quick glance at Chester before ducking his head. “Yeah…” he says slowly. “I’m coming.”

Brad nods. “Alrighty,” he says as he draws back, leaving Mike and Chester alone again.

Chester exhales loudly, not caring that Mike’s right in front of him.

So that’s it? That’s the end of their conversation?

As much as Chester doesn’t want it to be, he knows he has to let Mike go. It’s not like he can physically hold him back. The last thing he needs is the rest of the band coming after him for being an aggressive asshole again. So if it means he won’t get the answers he wish he could have and let Mike run off into Brad’s embrace, he has to—

Holy shit, that’s such a dumb thought. It doesn’t matter what they do. It’s none of his business. It’s not like he’s Mike’s mother or great grandfather or the FBI agent assigned to monitor him.

“We’re gonna grab some burgers at McDonalds for lunch,” Mike says, breaking the silence. He manages a shy smile, as he rubs the back of his neck. “You, uh, want anything in particular?”

Chester shrugs. “You know me, I eat anything. As long as the burger patty isn’t made out of worms, I’m good.”

A quiet laugh escapes Mike’s lips. “Alright, then. I’ll make sure to get you a patty stuffed with paper and grass instead. I know how much you love that.”

Chester cringes as the unfortunate memory breezes by. “Hey, that was a dare.”

“But you did it without hesitating so that means you had experience.”

“Hey when people dare you to do shit, you do it without hesitating.”

Mike raises his eyebrow, his grin broadening. “Uh huh, that’s what they all—”

“Mike!” Brad calls again, his head making an unfortunate appearance again. This time, the rest of the band has joined him, their heads sticking out of the door frame in a line. “Let’s go! I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, Mike. You better get going,” Joe chimes. “I’m hungry too. And you know what happens when I’m hungry.”

Mike rolls his eyes as he draws away from Chester. “Fine,” he says as he makes his way towards his bandmates. “The rest of you, behave. No whacking Chester with basketballs. Or footballs. Or any kind of hard object. If you wanna get his attention, just use words. All of you can speak so you don't have any excuses not  to.”

“Yes, mom,” Joe drawls, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder courtesy of Rob. “Ow!”

Mike shakes his head as snickers fill the room.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Brad says as the laughter dies down. He threads his fingers through the bush on his head as his head disappears. “I’m so fucking hungry. Let’s go before I start turning into a cannibal.”

“There’s a perfectly manicured lawn outside,” Chester points out, hopping off the kitchen island. “I think

Brad huffs. “Please, what do you take me for, a rabbit?”

Another round of laughter is shared as the band headed over to the front door to bid their goodbyes to Mike and Brad.

Mike and Brad. God help him.

“Hey, Mike?”

Mike pauses, halfway out the door. “Yeah?” he asks, his gaze pointed to the ground. The lack of eye-contact never cease to cause him heartache.

Chester hates this so much, so fucking much. But he’ll get to the bottom of this. He’s not sure when but he will. He’s not going to let their almost decade long friendship be thrown out the window for...whatever.

Definitely not now though. Not when four other pairs of eyes are glued on the both of them. Not when four other pairs of ears are hanging onto their every word. This problem needs to be dealt privately, away from prying eyes and ears.

That’s why he swallows his words and vomits out a lame, ‘see you later’.

Mike’s gaze flicker upwards, his lips parted in surprise. “Um, yeah. See you later.”

Another stab to the heart. Apparently being civil to each other is surprising to Mike, which makes no sense at all. Or maybe he’s surprised that Chester could still keep his cool after abruptly bailing out on him before they could talk.

God, this is all so stupid and juvenile and this is all—

“Hello? Earth to Chesterland? You in there?”

Chester jerks backwards, finally noticing a waving palm is right in front of his face. He almost trips over his own feet. “What the fuck?”

Apparently Mike and Brad are long gone, judging by the closed door. This leaves the rest of the band standing around and observing him with hawk-like attention.

Fuck, he must’ve zoned out again. Great, probably looked like a dumbass too. But they’re the dumbasses standing around watching him space out so really, he isn’t the biggest dumbass here, is he?

“You’ve been out of it again,” Joe teases as he withdraws his hand. “You’re back in La La Land again?”

Chester rolls his eyes as he lifts the ice pack from his forehead. “Hardy ha. Fuck off, Hahn.”

Spinning on his heel, he retreats into the kitchen, taking residence on the kitchen island again. Unsurprisingly, his friends are hot at his heels, watching him with dubious glances.

God, not this shit again.

Before Chester could revert being a broken record player, Rob cuts him off.

“Um, you know you can talk to us, right?”

Chester’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Yeah… Why?”

“Yeah, well…” Rob pauses to push his slipping glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that… Is something wrong?”

“No. Why’d you say that?”

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Dave explains. “You space out more often that usual. Something has to be troubling you for you to be like this. This isn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Wait, have you finally admitted High School Musical is the superior high school musical.” He breaks into a wide grin. “Get it? High School Musical takes place in a high school? And it’s a musical?”

The rest of the group groan out loud. Rob even slaps his forehead, cringing. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Chester snorts. “Contrary to popular belief,” he says as he resumes nursing his injury. The ice pack seemed to be doing its trick, dulling the ache for the moment. “I don’t hate High School Musical. I think it’s just inferior to the original which is Grease.”

“Hey, hey,” Dave interjects as he clamps Joe’s mouth with his palm. “No deviating from the subject. That’s not the point here.”

“What subject?” Chester demands, his voice rising a couple decibels. “There’s nothing up for Christ’s sake. So stop asking.”

“It can’t be nothing if you have been thinking about it for a while though.” Dave sighs, his shoulders slumping. “We’re just worried, Ches.” He gestures to the rest of their bandmates, who’re nodding vigorously. “We didn’t mean to be nosy or anything. If you’re not ready to talk, you’re not ready. You know you can talk to us when you’re ready, right?”

Chester’s anger deflates at that, guilt filling in. Dave’s right. They are just concerned for his well-being. All of them are, including Mike and Brad.

God, what is up with him today? The basketball sure did a number on him.

Chester sighs. “I know. I just… I don’t know man. I’m sorry I exploded.”

Dave nods. “I know,” he says, an answer Chester has heard more times than he should. “Don’t worry, man. We get it. You know we’re here for you right? And even if you don’t wanna talk to Rob or Joe or I, you have Brad and Mike. If you haven’t told Mike already, that is.”

Chester almost barks out a laugh at the last part. Instead, he shakes his head.

_Oh, if only you knew._

Wait, maybe they’ve noticed it – Mike’s cold shoulder towards Chester or Mike and Brad’s latest shift in their dynamics. They should’ve.

But if he did, would they even agree with him? After all, Chester has been told numerous of times that he has a habit of dramatizing things. They might not buy the idea of Mike or Brad crushing on each other, let alone in a secret relationship.

Well, only one way to find out.

Chester sucks in a breath, his pulse racing in anticipation. “I just—”

The chorus of System of a Down’s ‘Chop-Suey’ suddenly blares, jolting everybody in the room.

Holy fucking god the whole universe is out to get Chester today. The universe gave him a throbbing bump on his head, another bout of heartache, and now hearing loss.

He just can't fucking win, can he?

“Sorry,” Rob apologizes, whipping his phone out of his back pocket. “It’s Brad. Probably forgot our orders again.”

The phone call puts an end to their conversation, their discussion shifting to debates on burger patties and soda flavors.

It’s for the best, now that Chester thinks about it. It isn’t their problem in the first place. Whatever Mike’s issue is with Chester is between the both of them. No point bringing other people into it.

Plus, things may be looking up because when Mike and Brad returns with the food and drinks in tow, everything seems to revert back to normal. Chester’s normal, anyway.

Mike sticks by his side for the rest of the day, hounding him about his injury like an overbearing hen and cheering him up with stupid jokes. Mike always does that when Chester is in a shitty mood, besides offering an ear. Not that he can talk about shit anyway, not when they’re surrounded by the rest of the band.

Which is kind of weird given the silent treatment he had received recently. But he’s not against this change, not in the slightest.

But then he notices Brad looking at Mike and Mike looking at Brad and they’re looking at each other and _oh for fuck’s sake_.

Even if Chester seems to have Mike back for the moment, he still can’t deal with...whatever this shit was. He just can’t.

Chester almost lets out a defeated groan at the exchange. Instead, he grabs a handful of fries and stuff them in his mouth, preventing him from saying something he’ll regret.

They’re being so fucking obvious right now. Frankly, it’s pissing him off.

And he doesn’t know why.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this idea for a long time now so I'm glad I could finally write this down. Hope you guys like this chapter.


	2. Truth or Drink

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chester hardly sees Mike after lunch, no thanks to his friend’s recent production duties. He’s relegated to the studio with Rob, Dave, and Joe, the four of them messing around and recording instrumental parts for the album.

Which leaves him with Brad in a room on the other end of the mansion. 

Alone.

It’s not that Chester hates Brad. He loves the dude, thinks of him as a brother from another mother, in fact. It’s just that him and Mike have been hanging around too often and they’re acting weird and it’s just aggravating for some reason.

If there’s any consolation, at least Mike isn’t stuck in the same room as Brad. If he sees them trade heart eyes one more fucking time, he’s going to…going to do something. Chester isn’t sure what he’ll do. Probably chuck Brad’s guitar out the window, though that’s a sure-fire way of getting a fist to the face.

But hey, as long as they stop doing whatever that is they’ve been doing.

“So?”

Chester blinks, Brad’s voice pulling back to reality. His bandmate hovers above him, guitar in hand. He’s fixing Chester with an expectant look, the kind he’d give every time he seeks a serious opinion.

God knows what that serious opinion is, this time. Fuck, he really needs to stop thinking of Mike and Brad. It’s rendering him incompetent. 

“So what?” Chester asks, playing it cool. If he’s going to make himself look like an idiot, he might as well go all the way, even if Brad might whack him with his guitar.

Or maybe he won’t. Brad treasures the hell out of his guitars. Even if there is so much as a scratch on one, he’ll go berserk. Maybe he’ll throttle him instead. 

Brad’s eyes narrow at him. Chester hates it when he does that. That look makes him feel small, like he fucked up. In this case, he must’ve.

Damn, he really is going to be throttled. And no witnesses to watch the murder too.

“You weren’t listening, weren’t you?”

And there it is.

Heat spreads across Chester’s cheeks. “Sorta? Kinda.” He ducks his head in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Brad heaves a sigh as he plops down on the empty spot on the couch. Chester scoots away to give him more leg room, sending a silent prayer that he’ll make it out of this alive.

There’s a reason why Chester fears Brad. The man has quite a temper, one that Chester can’t face sober. Only Mike dares go against him without hesitation. Chester supposes being childhood friends help boost the confidence.

“The guys told me you were spacing out,” Brad starts. “I asked them if you told them why but they said you didn’t.”

Sirens sound at the back of his mind. Chester almost starts at that.

Great. Now the whole band thinks he’s nuts. Just fucking wonderful. That’s probably worse than Brad wanting to kill him. Hopefully he doesn’t look like he wants to stab people right now. People like Brad, which makes this whole exchange more awkward.

God, why did he stay behind? His recording session was done for the day, after all. He could’ve headed home, away from all this interrogating and nosing. But _no_ , Brad had to ask him to help him out with figuring out a guitar riff.

Hell, why Brad even bothered asking him in the first place boggles his mind. Sure, Chester managed to help him out with ‘Shadow of the Day’ but that didn’t mean he could pull off another miracle. If Brad wanted miracles, he could’ve opted for Mike and—

No, wait. That’s not what he wants but it doesn’t matter what Chester wants and _ugh, what is_ wrong _with him, why is thinking like this, somebody just kill him._

“I’m fine,” Chester says curtly, not meeting Brad’s sharp gaze. “Just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

Chester shrugs his shoulders in response, propping his feet on the coffee table. Having a coffee table and a couch in a bedroom doesn’t make any sense to him but whatever floats the interior designer’s boat. It isn’t his house.

It’s not like he could say spit out his theory that Mike and Brad have a thing going on or are thinking of having a thing. Neither could he say that their lovey-dovey gazes are ticking him off because one, it’s none of his business and two, he isn’t either of their mothers.

They could be into some weird BDSM shit and Chester can’t say a thing because it’s none of his business. Well, he could but that’ll mean having a fist to his face. And Chester doesn’t plan to have a fist to his face tonight.

Brad sighs again, prodding Chester’s legs with his own foot. “Ch—”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence, being cut off by a sharp rap on the door.

Thank god, it’s his golden ticket out of this mess. He’s going to kiss whoever it is on the mouth in thanks because they couldn’t have come at the right time.

“Come in!” Chester calls out.

A familiar face pokes his head through the door, shooting the both of them a shy smile.

Okay so Chester will be detracting that promise about that kiss. There is no way he’s going to kiss Mike unless he has a death wish. Not to mention, Mike’s probable love interest decking him. And like he said before, he doesn’t plan on getting punched tonight.

“Hey, Mikey,” Brad greets back, beaming in such a lovey-dovey manner that Chester groans inwardly.

“Hey.” Mike’s gaze flickers over to Chester, concerned. “How’re you doing? Is the…” He gestures to the side of his head, “...thing still bothering you?”

Chester shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. There’s no more pain.”

Mike nods. “That’s good. You guys managed to cook something up?”

“Sorta,” Chester says quickly. He could feel Brad’s scowl burning into the side of his face. “You?”

Mike wipes his face. “Yeah. Well, kinda. I recorded some parts of Dave’s bass and Rob and I came up with this drumming part that doesn’t sound too bad. But we’ll need to work on it tomorrow.” He nudges his head to the outside. “The others just headed back. You guys should too. It’s pretty late.”

Brad nods in agreement. “Yeah, I probably should. My creative juices…”

Chester’s attention on the conversation doesn’t last as soon as Brad utters the first sentence, thanks to the gears in his brain turning.

This is it. This is his perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of whatever is up Mike’s ass. Not literally though because _ew_ , he doesn’t want to know what Brad and him get up to in private.

“Actually Mike, I was wondering,” Chester begins, trying his best to sound casual, “if you wanted to work on ‘Accident’ tonight. I mean, if you want to.”

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, Mike isn’t enthusiastic about it, the emotions reflected on his face ranging from panic to confusion. He ends up settling on reluctance which doesn’t help Chester’s growing fears.

Guess Mike’s warmth towards him during lunch was a fluke.

What is also unsurprising is Brad’s response to that.

“It’s late,” Brad says, frowning deeply. “You guys can work on it tomorrow. There’s no rush to finish it.”

Chester twists the hem of his shirt with a finger, distracting himself from the irritation bubbling inside him. This has nothing to do with Brad. Why is he inserting himself into this?

_Probably in the mood for some wild sex. The BDSM kind. Unfortunately for him, he ain’t getting any tonight because I need Mike more than him, goddamn it._

“But if we work on it tonight,” Chester points out aloud. “we can work on other stuff. Plus, you and the rest could go through what we wrote for the twenty-three thousand, seven hundred, and fourth time.” He points a hard glare in Brad’s direction. “ _Again_.”

“We just think you guys can do better,” Brad says defensively. “All the stuff you’ve come up so far didn’t seem right.”

Laying a palm over his chest, Chester exhales dramatically. “Oh, the burden of being one half of the band’s songwriter, having to please everybody. Somebody have mercy on me.”

What sounds like an amused snort comes from Mike’s direction. It’s a little ego booster for Chester.

Brad isn’t as amused, directing an eye-roll at him. “Yeah, whatever. That’s not important. What’s important is that Mike looks like he’s gonna fall over any moment. A late night writing session would not do him any good.”

Chester’s about to make a snarky remark, had he not given Mike one good look.

As much as he hates to admit it, Brad’s right in that department. How could he have not noticed the faint bags under Mike’s eyes or the way his shoulders are slouched or the tiredness behind his half-hearted smile?

Guilt washes over Chester. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. The last thing he wants is Mike being carted off to the hospital because of exhaustion. Whatever that’s going on between him and Brad or his own problems with Chester can be dealt with later. What kind of friend would Chester be if he put his own needs before his friend’s?

God, he’s a terrible friend. He’s a fucking terrible friend. What is wrong with him? How can he be so blinded by his own selfish needs and—

“—can write with you.”

Chester whips his head up, his ears perked at the last couple of words. “Wait, what?”

At the same time, Brad makes a disapproving noise. “What, no! You look like you’re gonna collapse soon. Why would you—?”

“I’m fine. I could spare another hour.” The hesitation on Mike’s face has disappeared, replaced with a cool demeanor. “He’s right anyway. If we can get some stuff done tonight, we can work on—” He’s cut off by the yawn tumbling out his lips, his mouth opened wide.

Goddamn, that yawn. It’s as if the universe isn’t guilt-tripping him already.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” Chester says, removing his feet from the coffee table. “You do look pretty tired.”

Mike shakes his head. “I’m fine, don’t worry ‘bout me. It’s only like, what...” He glances down at his wristwatch. “It’s only 10.37pm. I’ve gone on longer without sleep.”

“Mike—” Brad begins.

“I’ll be fine,” he answers firmly.

It’s a strange sentence to say, considering who Chester is to Mike. That sentence should be said if he’s a stranger or an arch-enemy or somebody he doesn’t trust. Not Chester who’s both his best friend and bandmate.

Or maybe it’s nothing and Chester is overanalyzing everything like he always does.

“You sure?” Brad asks, sounding more worried than he should be.  

Mike nods, meeting his eyes. “Yeah.”

Chester has to suppress a groan at that. There they go again, trading those looks. Sure, he likes to say they’re the lovesick kind. But whatever it truly means, Chester has no idea. But it’s making him want to hurl. If they want to eye-fuck, they should do it when he isn’t around.

God even with Brad on his way out of tonight’s picture, he can’t stop leaving traces of himself all over.

“Alright,” Brad says hesitantly as he gets to his feet, propping his guitar on its guitar stand. “Well, I’m gonna head home.” He holds his hand up in farewell as he strides over to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Chester’s gut tells him the last sentence isn’t meant for him. Nevertheless, he responses with a, “Sure, see you tomorrow,” like the idiot he is.

As the door shuts behind Brad, the tension in the air thickens. Even a knife won’t be enough to cut through it. It makes Chester uncomfortable.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. Moral of the story, never come up with idiotic plans at 10-something at night.

It probably is a good idea that he’s sober now. Imagine if he’s drunk and high and—

“So...” Mike finally begins. He pulls out his notebook from his shirt pocket as he takes the furthest seat away from Chester, which hurts more than it should. “You have anything in mind?”

For the next hour or so, they don’t discuss anything but ‘Accident’. The transition from their personal relationship to their professional one is seamless. It’s one of the reasons why Chester loves his relationship with Mike. Even if they’re not on good terms, the problems they have with each other never seeps into their work.

Maybe it’s an unconscious move on Mike’s part. It definitely is for Chester but somehow Mike and Chester find themselves physically gravitating to each other, to the point that they share the same couch, their thighs barely brushing. Chester doesn’t think much about it. They always sit close to one another during song writing sessions.

“Goddamn,” Mike exhales after a while, dropping his notebook onto his lap. “I think my brain is dead. Fried to bits, holy fuck.”

Chester glances up from his notebook, twirling his pen between his fingers. He could feel the fatigue creeping into his own veins. “We could stop for the night. I mean, we got the verses down. We can worry ‘bout the chorus tomorrow.”

Mike waves his hand in dismissal. “Nah, we can try to come up with something. I think I need coffee.” He jumps up to his feet, his notebook sliding onto the floor. “I so need fucking coffee.”

Just the mention of coffee sends Chester into euphoria. How could he forget about the drink of the gods? Heaven-sent fuel? The only thing that hasn’t let him down in life?

Goddamn, is he glad they’re recording this album at a mansion. The fact that Mike’s more relaxed and willing to be around him helps a ton.

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Chester exclaims as Mike bends down to pick his notebook. “Why didn’t we come up with that sooner?”

“Because we’re idiots?” Mike offers.

“Probably.” Chester tosses his book and pen onto the coffee table before jumping to his feet. “Better late than never, is what I’ll say.”

“You never say that,” Mike says as he makes his way to the door.

“Fuck off,” Chester says humorously, receiving a snicker in response.

It doesn’t take them long to have the electric kettle plugged into the socket and the tin of coffee on the kitchen island. It’s instant coffee, which Chester has an immense dislike for. But hey, it’s better than nothing.

They don’t speak for a short while, wallowing in the return of the awkward silence. Mike has his arms crossed on one end of the kitchen island, gaze pointed downwards. Chester picks at the lint of his T-shirt on the other.

He needs something, anything to ward off this discomfort.

A familiar thought pops up in Chester’s head, one he forgotten while they were at work. He can’t believe he forgot about it. After all, that’s the point of staying up.

_This is a perfect opportunity to finally ask him why he’s avoiding me._

While he’s raring to go, he doubts Mike would be as enthusiastic, let alone respond with a proper answer. Even when Chester fielded a similar question to him earlier, he didn’t seem like he wanted to give him an answer.

No, the direct approach wouldn’t work here. What Chester needs to do is fish it out of Mike, have his guard down and then strike while he can.

But how?

He doesn’t take long to think about it because the perfect plan immediately forms in his head. An unconventional but perfect plan. Hopefully foolproof because well, you never know.

“While we wait for our precious water to boil,” Chester begins, watching Mike fix his attention on him, “let’s play truth or drink.”

“Truth or drink?”

“Yeah! You know, we ask each other questions and you gotta tell the truth. If you don't wanna, you take a shot.”

Immediately, Mike’s body stiffen. “You’re not supposed to be drinking.”  

Of course he’d bring that up. He’s always on his case when it comes to that.

“It doesn’t have to be alcohol,” Chester says as he yanks the refrigerator door open. The cool air is welcoming on his clammy skin. “It could be anything.”

“Like?”

_Like… Like… Like— Ah ha!_

His fingers close around the neck of the bottle.

Perfect.

Mike, however, doesn’t agree.

“Vinegar?” he exclaims in disgust as Chester sets the bottle in front of him. “Why the hell would you want to drink that?”

“Hey, it’s better than vodka, right?” Chester gives the bottle another glance. “And it’s _apple cider_ vinegar so it’ll probably taste better than ordinary vinegar.”

Mike frowns. “I guess but like… Wait, why do we even have this? We don’t cook here.”

“Beats me. Maybe Rob drinks it. Seems like the type to drink vinegar straight out of the bottle.”

Mike snorts as he picks up the vinegar, weighing it in his palm. “You know, we could just like… Drink water? Or juice! Juice’s good. I think there’s orange juice in there.”

“But those stuff aren’t gross to either of us,” Chester replies, snatching the bottle out of Mike’s grip. “You need to have gross stuff for these kind of games. Otherwise, there isn’t a point in telling the truth ‘cause you’d be just downing shots or water.”

“Then, shouldn’t we just play normal truth or dare?”

Chester shrugs as he pulls out two shot glasses from one of the cupboards. “I mean, we can if you’re in the mood to eat your earwax.”

Mike makes a disgusted expression. “You’re gross.”

“Hey that’s my dares are for, my friend. So would you prefer drinking the wondrous taste of vinegar or the murky but palatable earwax?”

“How’d you know earwax is palatable?”

“You’re not answering me, Shinoda.”

“Truth or destroy my throat,” Mike replies, shaking his head. “I’d like to not die tonight, please.”

Chester’s lips twist into a smirk. “Always knew you’re a smart man.”

Mike flips him off, breaking the both of them into quiet giggles.

As Chester pours out the vinegar, he couldn’t help but the slight shift in the air. While things remain awkward between them, at least some of the tension has been diffused.

They’re making progress. This is good, really good.

“So,” Mike starts, eyeing his shot glass with distaste, “who goes first?”

“Since I’m the oldest,” Chester starts, laying a hand on his chest, “I think it’s only right for me to go first.”

Mike rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, nudging at Chester to continue.

The thing about playing games like these with Mike is that they’re redundant. They tell everything and anything to each other. There probably isn’t a thing they don’t know about one another. Games like these work best between strangers or mere acquaintances. Not best friends of almost a decade.

Except whatever Mike has with Brad but whatever, that’s his prerogative. If he doesn’t want to tell Chester about it, it’s fine since it’s none of his business.

He has to ask questions that he hopefully hasn’t asked Mike yet, which isn’t many.

 _Too late to go back now_ , he thinks.

“Have you peed in a pool?”

Mike cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Chester almost facepalms. God, why does his brain go to weird places. “Yeah, seriously.”

“You know this already. I think we’ve talked ‘bout this before.”

This is exactly his the point he’s making. They know each other too well for a game like this.

“Oh really?” Chester pauses, scrambling for a good excuse. All he could think of is an, “I don’t remember. Did we ever?”

Mike’s brow creases. “Huh, maybe not. Never mind then. I never peed in the pool.”

Chester’s lips quirk to the side. “Not even when you were a kid?”

“I was a sensible kid, thank you very much.” Mike’s furrowed brow deepens as an unfortunate cackle escapes Chester’s lips. “What, it’s true!”

“Okay, okay,” Chester says, grinning. “I’m not doubting you.”

Mike snorts. “Uh huh, sure.” Despite the annoyance laced in his tone, there’s a sparkle behind his eyes. Chester counts that as a win.

They throw more questions back and forth, most of them stuff they already know about each other as Chester predicted. But that turns out to be favorable for him, allowing the both of them to trade laughter and jabs.

The vibes between them slowly return to normal, like Mike never treated him like he’s the plague. As much as he’d like to believe that everything’s fine now, he’s unconvinced. Chester has already been lulled into a false sense of security not long ago. This time, he isn’t going to be as gullible.

Since things seem to be better between them, this is a good time to bring _it_ up, to spring it on Mike while his guard is down. Hopefully it remains down because otherwise, well, he better start planning his will.

“You’ve been acting weird around me for the last couple of days,” Chester begins quietly, gaze pointed down at his shot-glass. “Why?”

The jovial atmosphere comes to a screeching halt.

Chester doesn’t dare to check on Mike’s reaction. It’ll just make him feel more anxious about the whole thing. He’s already dying on the inside.

“To be honest,” Mike starts, breaking the silence. There’s an edge of anxiety in his humorous tone. “I really wanna drink the vinegar right now.”

Heat stirs at the bottom of Chester’s stomach. He won’t lie, he’s upset that Mike would even think of lying to him, lying to him about how he’s not avoiding him.

Neither one of them have thrown a shot back. It makes sense considering their camaraderie. They’re not afraid to share about stuff between the both of them.

Until now, probably.

“What’s stopping you?” Chester asks quietly, trying his best to mask the anger bubbling inside.

Mike doesn’t answer for a long second. “That I have to lie to you. And I don’t want to lie to you.”

Chester whips his head up at that. Mike’s expression is stoic, gaze trained on the bottle of vinegar.

What the flying fuck? How could he look so calm when he’s trying to insinuate that he’s _consciously ignoring Chester, what the flying_ fuck _?_

“So you _are_ deliberately ignoring me!” Chester accuses. “What the fuck, Mike?! Why—? I—” He pauses, inhaling deeply.

_Keep your chill, Ches. Don’t lose it. Not now. It won’t help things. Losing it never helped you before and it won’t help you now._

“Did I—?” He halts, cringing at how defeated he sounds. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Mike cries loudly, jolting Chester. Some form of shock must’ve been on Chester’s face because Mike lowers his voice after. “God, no. You didn’t do anything wrong at all. I just… It’s me. There have been some things on my mind, that I only can deal with.”

“And the only person you could talk to is Brad?” Chester harshly demands. “You know, you didn’t need to sideline me if you want to tell Brad shit instead. You could’ve treated me the same instead of ignoring my calls or my texts or emails or attempts to talk or—

“Ches—”

There’s something in Mike’s tone that Chester can’t identify. Pity? Sadness? Annoyance?

God, this is such a bad idea. It was probably better Chester didn’t bring this up, better to live in ignorance. He can’t deal if Mike hates him or— or—

“No, no. It’s fine.” His eyes begin to sting. Chester ducks his head, fighting off the sudden urge to cry. “You don’t have to tell me everything. You have more than one friend for a reason. I know I’m not good at giving advice anyway. I fucking suck at it.”

He’s not going to cry, not over something stupid like this. He’s not going to be upset over his fucking best friend ignoring him for the past weeks. He’s not going to be upset over his fucking best friend tossing him aside for somebody else.

That’ll be stupid and pathetic of him to do that. After all, he’s been there before.

“And Brad’s been your best friend since you guys were kids and—”

“Ches?”

“What?” Chester snaps, immediately regretting his harsh words.

Mike doesn’t seem affronted by him. Ignoring his outburst, he extends a hand towards Chester. “May I?”

Chester’s eyebrows narrow, skeptical. Because really, why does Mike want to hold his hand across the kitchen island for no apparent reason?

If Mike’s somebody else, he would’ve immediately shut him down. But he’s not so he does so. Even if things are spiraling between them, Chester always found it difficult to turn him down. Mike has that hold on him.

Mike’s palm is a little clammy, which doesn’t bother Chester since he’s sure his are too. It’s not the first time they’ve exchanged sweat.

“Remember when I got drunk during the afterparty at our first Grammys?”

Chester’s frown deepens. “What does that have to do anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

Chester snorts, cracking a smile as he recalls. “Of course I do. You were so drunk that you almost hurled at Bono’s feet. I don’t think people would forget shit like that.”

Mike breaks into a sheepish smile. “Yeah, well that isn’t why I brought that night up.” A soft blush spreads across Mike’s cheeks. It’s an adorable sight. Chester always found it adorable that Mike can blush easily.

“Remember when we at the bar alone?” Mike continues. “Just the two of us? And I was telling you that you’re my best friend? That you’re the only person I can talk to about really deep and personal stuff?”

Chester nods slowly, his heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

“That hasn’t changed,” Mike answers, lacing their fingers together. It’s a comforting gesture. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now but I still feel the same way about you. But what’s going in my head right now is something I can only tell Brad.” He sighs heavily. “I’d love to tell you about it. I really do. But right now…”

“You’re not ready?” Chester guesses.

Mike nods. “Give me time and maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

Chester lets out a short puff. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me. I’m fine if you don’t want to tell me stuff. That’s your business. But what I don’t get is why you needed to go out of your way to avoid me..”

Mike pulls away from Chester’s touch, choosing to brush the back of Chester’s palm instead. “I’m sorry I did that. There’s no excuse for what I did to you and it was bad judgment on my part. Really bad judgment. I know that doesn’t make it all better but I mean it.” Their eyes meet each other from across the counter. There’s genuine guilt behind Mike’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

A lump forms in Chester’s throat, his eyes stinging again. “Okay.”

Mike pauses his movement. “It’s not okay. I took our friendship for granted and—”

“Hey, you apologized,” Chester interrupts as he pulls away from Mike. “It’s okay. You’re not obligated to say stuff you’re not comfortable saying. I’m just glad I didn’t say or do something stupid that upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Mike manages a soft smile. “You never do.”

Something passes between the both of them. Chester isn’t sure what but he likes and doesn’t like it. It’s a strange feeling.

“Okay,” Chester says, “next question.”

“Um…” Mike’s gaze flickers upwards. “Do you ever feel tempted to drink again?” His facial features scrunches up, as if he regrets what he has just said.

Chester understands why. His past with drugs and alcohol was a sensitive period. But it’s a period that has happened and Chester won’t hide from that. He’s done hiding from that.

“Yeah, of course,” Chester says easily, tracing the rim of his shot-glass. “But I mean, I made a decision not to do that. I made a promise to you I wouldn’t drink and I won’t.”

Mike breaks into a broad smile, one that brings out the crinkles around his eyes. Chester loves it when he does that. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

“I know,” Chester says softly, his cheeks warming. “Thank you.”

Another bout of silence settles in, that strange feeling Chester’s on the fence about joining. He’s more inclined to it though.

“So…” Chester starts, scrambling for a question. He could ask him about Brad but it’ll be weird to suddenly start with, ‘Are you and Brad fucking behind my back?’

That’s why he comes up with the next best thing.

“Have you ever been attracted to guys?”

Mike’s Adams apple bob, his gaze flickering around the room. “We had this conversation before.”

“Yeah, but like… Things could’ve changed. Just because you like women one day, doesn’t mean you’ll always be attracted to women forever.”

“True. But I mean...”

Mike doesn’t finish his sentence, his attention settling on the shot-glass in front of him. He looks nervous, really nervous. Which means… It means…

“Oh.”

Mike nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

It’s the first time anybody has ever come out to him, which doesn’t help Chester’s jitters. He wants to do this right, do Mike right.

“Just guys or…”

Mike shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I’m still attracted to women so I guess I’m bi.” He pauses, his eyebrows narrowing. “God, that’s such a weird way to come out.”

“I’m no expert but I don’t think there’s a proper way to come out.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think people come out while playing truth or drink vinegar out of shot glasses,” Mike points out.

“Well, you’re special.” Chester leans forward, arms crossed on the countertop, flashing him a grin. “One of a kind.”

Mike lets out a nervous laugh, pink spreading across his cheeks. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d figure you’re drunk.”

“Hey, you never know,” Chester’s grin broadens, shooting him a wink and earning another eye-roll and a laugh.

Even as Chester tries to cheer Mike up, internally, he’s reeling from a thought he just came up with.

“Is that what you didn’t want to tell me?” Chester asks. “Why you’re avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” Mike says slowly, his attention back on the shot glass. “Kinda.”

Chester chews the bottom of his lip as a stab of pain shoots through his heart. He must’ve fucked up at one point, said or did something homophobic that made Mike think of him that way.

Sure, it’s not something you’d tell people. Even in a time like this, it’s still frowned upon which is fucking bullshit.

But to not being able to come out to your best friend is fucked.

“You didn’t think I’d be accepting of you?”

Mike doesn’t answer for a long moment. The silence and lack of eye-contact confirm Chester’s fears.

“Fuck, Mike,” Chester exhales, putting as much sincerity into his words as he could. “I’m so sorry if I said anything that was offensive or—”

“You didn’t!” Mike interrupts, shock coursing through Chester for the second time. He quickly shies away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s just… You didn’t do anything wrong. I just thought with— with everything that happened to you in the past and all. Like, you know with everything—” A deep groan escapes his lips as Mike buries his face in his hands. “You know, just forget it.”

Despite Mike’s stammering, Chester could fill in the blanks on what he’s trying to communicate. It’s pretty obvious at what Mike’s referring to.

They don’t talk about it often. Hell, it’s barely brought up unless a well-researched journalist or interviewer does. Even then, Chester never goes into much detail.

Now everything makes sense to Chester, why Brad’s the one Mike ran off to, why Mike has been avoiding him like the plague.

Fuck, why did that shit have to happen to him? If it didn’t, Mike wouldn’t need to hide who he is to Chester. Even with the world against you, your best friend should be able to support you through it all. And to think that your best friend would hate you for it…

“And yeah, even if you don’t like me for me, I shouldn’t have avoided you and—”

“Hey, hey.” Chester leans forward, resting his palm on top of Mike’s. He could feel a tremor underneath his hand. “I don’t blame you for thinking like that, with what I’ve been though. But I don’t hate you. I don’t think of you any lesser than what I’ve thought of you since we met. I’ll always accept you for who you are, Mike. You are still Mike Shinoda and you’re still the handsome genius who makes every single person in the universe your bitch and you being attracted to guys doesn’t change that, alright? I love you all the same. What happened to me doesn’t matter because you’re not him, okay?”

He gives his hand a tight squeeze.

“You’re not _him_.”

For a moment, neither one of them move a muscle or speak a word, their surroundings heavy with the weight of what has been said.

Mike caves in first, managing a feeble smile as he pulls away from Chester. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cry,” he says as he wipes at his eyes. “You asshole.”

“Hey, that’s the point, man,” Chester jokes. “You mind if I hug you?”

His friend lets out a weak laugh. “That’s another question,” he says, his eyes reddening. “Plus, it’s my turn.”

“Hey, we’ve been asking each other more than one question per turn this whole time.”

“Yeah, well, let’s go back to following the rules.”

“You asshole,” Chester huffs, feigning annoyance. He crosses his arms, jutting his nose upwards. It’s strange for him to fake irritation when he’s going to shed tears of his own. “ _Fine_.”

“Okay, okay. Fine, you big baby,” Mike spreads his arms wide, an invitation. “C’mon, bring it in.”

If Mike isn’t Mike, Chester wouldn’t have entertained the idea of offering a hug, let alone going for it. Hugging has always been a foreign concept to him growing up. Again, another reason to hate that molesting son of a bitch and his family.

Hell even with Mike, it took a while for Chester to be comfortable embracing him. But now that he is, he wished he got into it sooner. It feels so easy and safe falling into his arms, having hands around his body and a cheek pressed against his. It never ceases to make his heart race.

This time is no different, even if Chester’s face isn’t full of Mike’s hair like he usually is. God, does he miss Mike’s hair.

“Hey, Ches?” Mike asks, his voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Mm hmm?”

“Can I hug you longer?”

Chester chuckles as he pulls Mike closer to his body. He could feel his shirt dampening. He’s not bothered by it. After all, he’s destroying Mike’s shirt too. “Of course you can. You don’t need to ask me that.”

Mike’s rumbled laugh vibrates through Chester’s body. “Just in case.”

They stay like this for a couple more seconds. Mike is the one who pulls away first, wrinkling his nose as he does so.  “God, you stink.”

“Hey, at least I’m not Rob or Joe,” Chester says as he returns to the other end of the counter. “They’re the ones that were playing and _refused_ to shower after.”

Mike makes a face. “Ugh, don’t remind me.” He pauses to grab the tissue box on one end of the island to wipe at his eyes. “Your turn.”

Chester almost stops the game right there and then. After all, this is a good time to end the whole thing right here. He has all the answers they need and their relationship is on its way to being repaired.

But he’d be lying if he isn’t curious about Mike and _him_.

He needs to know about them. It’s none of his business but goddamn it, he needs to know.

“So…” Chester begins, snatching a fistful of tissue to wipe his own eyes. “Since we’re on the topic of guys, I’m wondering, are you attracted to anybody in the band?”

It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-thing but he swears that Mike pales.

“What? That’s a really specific—” Mike clears his throat, his cheeks turning rosy. “Uh, why would you think I like anybody in the band. Not that that’s a bad thing or anything. It’s just… Uh…”

Chester shrugs his shoulders, flashing him a cheeky smile. “Just wanted to know whether you like my ass.”

“I think I’ve always told you I like your ass.”

“Yeah but that’s before you told me you’re bi,” Chester replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He would be lying if he said he isn’t excited. It takes him back to their younger days, when Mike used to gush about Anna. “So now that I know you’re bi, I’d like a better clarification. But that’s not what I asked anyway. C’mon, spill.”

“You really wanna know?”

Chester flashes him a knowing look, eyebrow raised.

“Okay, fine,” Mike concedes, his blush deepening. “You’re right. Unfortunately. Who do you think gave me my bi awakening?”

Chester tilts his head from side to side, contemplating. “I don’t know. Hugh Jackman?”

“I mean, he’s hot but like…”

“Oh my god,” Chester starts, arching his other eyebrow too, “you think one of the guys is hotter than Hugh Jackman.”

He thinks Brad is hotter than Hugh Jackman, what the hell?

Sure, Brad does look attractive, Chester would give him that.

But really? Really?

 _Really_?

Mike throws him a glare. “Don’t tell anybody else.”

Chester makes a zipping motion in front of his lips. “My lips are sealed. So, who is the lucky guy?”

As soon as Chester finishes the question, Mike snatches his shot-glass, knocking the drink back.

Guess there are some things Mike isn’t ready to talk about. The fact that he spent time whining about the possibility of drinking vinegar and doing so without hesitation speaks volumes. And this is coming off Mike’s coming out confession.

“Wow,” Chester exhales in disbelief as he watches Mike’s soul leave his body. “ _Wow_.”

Mike slams the glass down as he sticks his tongue out in disgust. “Fuck, that was nasty.”

Chester grins. “Can I guess though?”

“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll tell though.”

“Well I can go through everybody’s name and see if you react to any of them.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “Ches—”

“Dave, Joe, Rob, Chester, Brad—” Chester’s voice dies out as he watches Mike’s cheeks take on a deep crimson hue. “Oh my god!”

Mike blushed the hardest when Chester was reaching the end, which means Chester’s right. Well, Chester’s always right. But still, he loves it when there’s solid evidence to back up his own thoughts.

Though he’s not sure why he isn’t as enthusiastic about the prospect of Mike having a crush on Brad. He should be happy that his best friend has romantic feelings for somebody else. And yet…

“You like Brad.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do, you fucking liar.”

Mike snorts. “Fine, believe what you want. But I don’t like Brad.”

“Uh huh,” Chester says, shooting him an incredulous expression. He nudges at Mike’s face. “Tell that to your cheeks.”

His best friend’s hands fly to his cheeks, palming them over. “It’s hot,” he says lamely.

“Uh huh,” Chester replies, nodding, “sure.”

Mike sighs deeply as he changes the subject. “What about you? You attracted to anybody in the band? I mean like whoever you think is hot! Not like you like _like_ them. You know. Things like that. Just physically. Not like you’re in love with them or anything.”

“Aw, you’re spluttering,” Chester coos. “Who knew Brad Delson could make you like this?”

“Oh fuck you.”

Chester smirks at him, waggling his eyebrows. “You wish. But yeah, there are a couple of good-looking people around in the band.”

Mike raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Really?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Who?”

Chester’s grin broadens as he picks up his own shot-glass tossing the drink back. Since it’s a tiny shot-glass, there isn’t much to drink out off. But god, the vinegar is devastatingly sour, both his tongue and throat stinging.

Mike frowns. “Oh, c’mon.”

“Hey, I’ll tell if you’ll tell,” Chester says as he fights off the tartness swirling in his mouth, setting the glass down. “Holy shit, that stings.”

“You didn’t need to drink it, y’know.”

“And air out my dirty laundry?” Chester exclaims. “I think not.”

Mike sighs heavily, defeated. “Ugh, fine. One day.”

“Mm hmm, one day.”

They lapse into silence again. This time, there isn’t any trace of awkwardness. Things seem to have revert back to normal. Hopefully, for good this time.

“Hey, Mike?”

“Mm hmm?”

Chester leans forwards, arms crossed on the counter. “Thank you for telling me. About you being bi. I know it must’ve been difficult for you. I’m honored you’ll tell me this. So thank you.”

Mike mirrors him, a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you for accepting me. I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s okay,” Chester answers quietly, beaming back. “You had your reasons.”

They don’t speak for another couple of seconds, soaking in everything that has transpired the past hour or so.

God, what a day has it been – getting hit by a basketball, getting interrogated from every single member of the band, finally getting to the bottom of Mike’s cold shoulder, finding out Mike is bisexual and holding a torch for somebody in the band. Chester deserves an award for this.

But he’s glad that they’ve managed to sort everything out, glad that they could be honest with each other, glad that Mike could breathe easier now with being out to Chester.

“Hey, Ches?”

“Yeah?”

Mike grins. “Remember that we were supposed to make coffee and finish up ‘Accident’?”

“…Ah, fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for leaving kudos on the previous chapter! Sorry for the late post, got stuck with a major writer's block. But now that I'm a little free, hopefully I'll be able to post more frequently. :)


	3. Chester Bennington and the Book Prison

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now that Chester’s gotten the answers he needed from Mike, he expects things to revert to normal. And it does. Mike isn’t giving him the cold shoulder or acting skittish around him anymore. Which is good. Really, really good.

Except for one teeny-weeny problem.

Mike and Brad still has that weird thing they have going on.

It’s not to say that Mike should stop acting weirdly around a crush or secret lover or hookup or whatever once Chester and his relationship has been repaired. Because it’s none of his business that they’re still giving each other looks and they’re still spending way more time than Chester would like and Brad’s still leaning into Mike and…and…

The point is, nobody can help how they feel. Mike can’t help how he feels about Brad, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

Oh, and that Mike’s a fucking liar.

As much as he wants to deny that there is nothing going on between him and Brad, well Chester has eyes. And his eyes don’t lie.

Frankly, he hates the idea of his best friend hiding shit from him. Chester has been down this road one too many times before. It’s only when he reminds himself that it’s none of his business does he let it go. For the moment, anyway.

Chester’s feelings isn’t important in this.

Their bushy-haired guitarist is brought up again a couple times after that night – one as a joke and another casually inserted in conversation. Both times Mike vehemently denies having any trace of romantic feelings towards him. Chester takes all of this with a grain of salt.

It’s not to say that he thinks little of Mike’s word, even if it might seem like it. Which now that he thinks about it, sounds fucking terrible. As his best friend, Chester should believe whatever that comes out from Mike’s mouth, even if it’s horseshit.

But for some odd reason, he can’t. Not when his eyes are his witnesses. Mike blushes too much when he lies. Plus, he’s always turning into a tomato every time Chester brings it up.

Anyway, the more he thinks about it, the more the idea of them having feelings for each other makes perfect sense.

Take their past relationships, for example. Brad ended his last relationship a couple of weeks after Mike broke off his engagement with Anna. This could just be mere coincidence but Chester can’t forget the meaningful look Brad had shot Mike or how unperturbed he seemed when Brad broke the news to the rest of the band.

Or it could be Chester overanalyzing everything once again. Maybe Brad confided with Mike about the breakup beforehand and was looking to him for assurance or support. That makes sense too. Brad doesn’t confide in anybody but Mike.

But hell, you never know. Brad did get drunk that one time during their early days of touring and wouldn’t shut up about Mike’s ass. That’s something right there.

Sort of.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He gets confirmation a week after Mike and him reconciled.

Well, technically it isn’t really a confirmation since it isn’t written on paper or explicitly spoken out loud. But fuck, what kind of platonic reason could explain Mike brushing his thumb across Brad’s lips?

Mike isn’t a handsy guy, at least with Brad anyway. Unless they always has been and Chester hasn’t noticed until now.

For a moment, Chester’s frozen on the stop, watching Mike lightly swipe his thumb across Brad’s parted lips. It was soft, delicate. Like he was afraid of hurting him.

And Brad, goddamn. There’s something behind his eyes too. It’s soft, kind. Full of adoration. And the way he leans into his touch. It’s… It’s…

Something stirs in the pits of his stomach. Chester isn’t sure what it’s supposed to be. He doubts he wants to know.

So to make sure he doesn’t dwell on it, he decides to resort to one of the few things he knows best.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Mike and Brad jump apart so abruptly, looking like they’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. It’s kind of amusing, watching Brad stumble on his feet and flush a deep crimson. Chester has never seen Brad this embarrassed before. He looks like he’s ready to burst.

Mike, on the other hand, has his gaze glued to the floor.

“It’s— Uh, well—” Brad splutters, his voice several decibels higher than usual. Another first for him too. His hands fly everywhere, as if he has no clue on what to do. “It’s not what it looks like—”

Chester holds his hand up. “Nah, you guys don’t need to explain yourselves.” He shoots both of them a wink. Brad turns a brighter shade of red, if that’s even possible. Mike looks like he wants the whole world to swallow him world. Both f them understandable reactions. It isn’t everyday your friend catches you in the act of feeling up your crush/secret lover.

Oh, if only Chester has a video camera on him right now. It would be hilarious to record this and play this at their thirtieth wedding anniversary.

“I’ll be out of your hair now,” Chester says, grinning as he strolls out of the kitchen. He probably has tormented them long enough. “Carry on.”

Chester could make out Brad’s flailing as he makes his way out. God, he really should get a video camera. This makes good blackmail. Or at the very least, evidence.

But all of the glee and smugness that he’s riding on fades away as soon as he shuts the front door behind him.

Mike and Brad. Brad and Mike. Together. As a couple.

Huh.

Well, he’s right after all. Then again, Chester’s always right.

But then why isn’t he more enthusiastic about it? Like that discomfort swirling around in his stomach is—

The sound of a door being thrown open startles him out of his thoughts.

It’s Mike, standing at the doorway with darkened cheeks and heaving chest. He has his fingers clasped around the doorframe as he’s catching his breath.

Now why the hell is he here, chasing after Chester? Shouldn’t he be inside making out with Brad? After all, the rest of the guys have already disappeared for the night so they could—

“We’re not dating.”

Chester’s eyelids flutter. He ran all the way here to tell Chester another lie? Seriously?

Chester flashes him a doubtful grin. “Mm hmm. You told me that a thousand times already.”

“It’s true.”

“Uh huh. Totally true.”

Mike sighs heavily, wiping his face. Under the porch lights, he suddenly looks weary, the warm light accentuating his dark circles. “Brad had a crumb stuck to his mouth. I was trying to wipe it off him.”

Okay, so maybe that’s a possible platonic reason for…that. Chester would’ve bought that if he’s brainless, which he isn’t. If Brad did have a crumb on his mouth, Mike didn’t need to reach out and run his finger across it like that, like he’s always wanted to…to…

“Really?”

Mike nods vigorously. “Yes, I’ve told you this a million times.” He shakes his head as he leans against the doorframe with crossed arms. “But seriously, Brad and I don’t have a secret relationship going on, jeez.”

He’s using that tone, the kind that Chester always finds himself believing every time he uses it. It always has been effective and hell, Mike always uses it when he’s telling the truth.

So maybe Mike and Brad aren’t dating.

But they sure as hell seem like they are. Or at least want to.

“Would you want to have one with him?”

Mike scowls. “ _Ches_ —”

Chester waves his hand in dismissal as he turns away, masking the involuntary tug at his lips. “Alright, I’m going, you asshole.”

He only takes a couple steps forward when Mike’s voice stops him again.

“What makes you think Brad and I have something going on?”

Chester spins back around to face Mike. He’s still glued to the door, his arms still in a defensive stance. “Just the way you act around each other.” 

“But we’re not dating,” Mike points out before letting out a yawn. 

God, he really needs a year’s worth of sleep. 

“I heard you the first time.”

Mike narrows his eyes. “If you did, then why’re you so adamant about us having a thing?” 

There’s an annoyed edge to his voice. For a moment, fear creeps into Chester’s heart. He hates it when Mike’s ticked off. Mike’s never been one to snap. He’s always been the calm and collected kind-of-guy. 

But god, his body language and the tone he makes? Dead giveaways, warning signals for people to stay away. 

Chester has clashed with him several times before. It’s normal for bandmates and friends to disagree with one another. But right now, he doesn’t really feel like getting into one, not when it’s over  _Brad_ , of all people. 

“I just… You guys have been hanging around with each other a lot,” Chester says. His voice is surprisingly softer than he thought it’ll be. “And the way you look at each other’s just…” He exhales. “It just feels like there’s…”

“A spark?” Mike offers, his features softening.

Chester shrugs. “Maybe?”

Mike nods slowly. Chester could hear the gears shifting in Mike’s head as he processes what has been said. “Oh… I see. But don’t you think you—”

“Hey,” Chester interrupts suddenly, “it’s pretty late. I kinda want to catch up on some sleep. And you should too. You look really, really tired.”

Mike’s eyebrows knit together. He probably doesn’t like that Chester has cut him off. But if it’s going where Chester thinks it’s going, he doesn’t want to be a part of that.

“Yeah, I know. I just need to discuss some stuff with Brad first.”

Chester snorts inwardly. _It’s always about Brad, isn’t it?_

“Okay,” Chester says out loud. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Mike manages a tired smile. “Night. Drive carefully.”

“I always do,” Chester replies as he turns on his heel. “Love you!”

He doesn’t think much about the transpired events afterwards, spending the rest of his ride home, burning through a cigarette and another spin of his favorite Stone Temple Pilots record. When he happens on a stop light, does he allow his thoughts to drift away.

So apparently, Mike and Brad aren’t having a secret relationship. But as much as Mike denies it, they seem to be on the cusp of well, laying their feelings out.

He knows Mike. He’s being defensive about his feelings again, just like the early stages of his infatuation with Anna back in the day. Mike might think he’s being slick but damn, Chester’s smarter than that.

But then, what’s stopping the both of them from getting into each other’s pants? After all, Mike’s aware of where Chester stands with his sexuality. To his knowledge, the rest of the band isn’t discriminatory to the LGBT+ community either so they wouldn’t need to worry about the band coming after their asses.

Maybe the public? But the public hasn’t cared about them since they put out that EP with Jay-Z. Which means Mike and Brad could be a little more affectionate, sort of.

And hell, they don’t even need to display any public affection. Chester knows they aren’t like that, prone to PDA.

So, what the hell is up with them?

The most possible answer is that they think the other isn’t into them. Which is bullshit, but hey, people can be dense. Really, really dense.

Which means only one thing can be done – Chester has to get himself involved. It’s for their sake, after all. He knows that Mike and Brad make one another happy, especially Mike. He’s been wound like a coiled spring these past few weeks. He deserves happiness. And if he can’t see it, well, Chester has to do what he has to do as his best friend.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The problem with matchmaking people together is the execution.

Chester’s great with ideas. Hell, he’ll say he comes up with the best ideas. They always look good on paper. He’s not part of the best band in the whole universe for nothing.

But translating them to real life? That’s where he’s stuck at.

This isn’t like his ordinary prank where he could do stupid shit and then freak everybody out. He can’t perform jump scares or stick chewing gum to people’s shoes. This is the matters of the heart. One misstep and Chester could be kissing goodbye to life.

It would’ve been easier if Mike and Brad didn’t know each other. Then, he’ll just need to introduce them to one another, skedaddle out of there, and let the magic do its thing.

So that means he has to resort to other ways. Different ways. Stupid ways. Like ‘accidentally’ spilling water over Brad or getting all up in Mike’s personal space. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t seem to get any reaction that could hint at anything romantic or jealousy.

Hell, he even tried the lock-them-up-in-the-closet method. _Twice_. And still, nothing happened.

Well, maybe it would’ve worked if Joe hadn’t decided to tackle him for no apparent reason while Chester was trying to block the doorway. On both occasions.

Somebody needs to watch the man’s sugar intake because, Jesus Christ.

The point is Chester sucks at getting people together. It’s why he’s skimming a self-help book on romance in the town’s Book Prison on a Tuesday morning.

Book Prison being the library. It’s not that he hates the library. In fact, Chester loves the place. There’s just something magical about the library, of skimming through dusty shelves, of wallowing in complete silence, and flipping through frayed paperbacks. It’s just a term used by one of his old high school classmate who loathes the library. And it has stuck in Chester’s brain since.

He isn’t due to work until noon, which gives him ample time to go back to the drawing board. Though frankly, he didn’t think he’ll be at Book Prison to research on being a great matchmaker.

He’ll blame that on Rob, who claims his car is at the mechanic and urgently needs a chauffeur. Chester, ever the nice guy he is, agreed. And Rob, taking advantage of his generosity, sprung up the fact that he wants to visit Book Prison.

So now he’s stuck at the local Book Prison on a Tuesday at nine in the morning when he could be resuming his wonderous dream of bathing in a river of wine and being fed grapes by his obedient servants.

Life is unfair, sometimes.

Chester drops the stack of books he’s been carrying with loudly, prompting dirty looks from nearby patrons and a hush from the librarian. It’s amazing how nobody has recognized either of them yet. The librarian Chester gets considering her elderly age but the rest? They’re college-aged. They definitely would’ve heard of Linkin Park unless they live under a rock.

Or maybe they have but don’t give two shits, which is good for Chester’s mental health. He’s already running of caffeine to stay awake as it is.

Rob, to his credit, isn’t fazed one bit by the noise. He’s used to Chester drawing unnecessary attention to himself. But he does give the stack of books a once-over and quietly remarks, “What’s up with the books? Off your game or something?”

“Nah,” Chester replies as he plucks the book from the top of the pile. “Tryna figure out how to get two people together.”

Rob arches an eyebrow. “You? Chester Bennington? Playing matchmaker?”

“And what about it?” Chester begins, his voice rising. “You think I’m not capable of getting—?”

He’s cut off by another shush by the librarian, who’s drilling holes into Chester’s skull. It’s amazing how she could pick up his voice from the other end of the room. She must have supersonic hearing or a futuristic pair of hearing aids.

Then again, you could drop a pin and everybody’s ears could pick up on it.

“Sorry,” Chester whispers loudly. “Can’t help it. I have a strong set of lungs.”

The answer nets him a couple of snickers from neighboring tables. The librarian isn’t amused, shaking her head as she returns to her computer screen.

Rob mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. Probably regretting choosing Chester as his chauffeur today. Aloud, he asks, “Do I know the people you’re trying to get together?” 

“Nope,” Chester utters cheerily, accentuating the last syllable.

At this point, he’s definitely not being subtle right now. Hell, Chester has never been a subtle person. Just watch his antics for the past couple of minutes and you could tell he isn’t one. It’s a good thing Rob’s here instead of anybody else from the band. Otherwise, his lie would go noticed.

One of the great things of hanging around with Rob is that he’s the best person to plot and pull off said plots around. Out of the rest of the band, he’s the densest when it comes to Chester’s schemes, which in turn, makes him the best victim to prank.

“Do they know you’re trying to set them up together?”

Chester tilts his head from side-to-side as he flips a page.

To be honest, it is kind of shitty of him not to tell them of his idea. He should get both of their consent to set them up together. It’s important to get people’s consents, after all.

But Chester knows Mike. He would just straight-up deny his feelings all over again and refuse to go out with Brad for some flimsy and idiotic reason. And Chester knows they’re attracted to each other. Mike was being defensive and Brad was beet red and the way they’re acting around one another is just bizarre. There’s really no platonic explanation for their behaviors.

Because if—

Chester mentally shakes his head. He’s not going to go there right now.

“Maybe…?”

Rob’s fixing him with a strange look but doesn’t pursue it further. “Well, as long as it’s harmless,” he whispers as he returns to his book. Today it’s _The Golden Compass_. Rob has been reading a lot of young adult fiction lately, which is quite surprising. He has always been more of a classics kind of guy.

Chester takes his word as finality and gladly starts his research.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t offer much shit, just a bunch of mindless and sexist shit that Chester thinks is garbage. So do the next three books. They’re all filled with stupid drivel and _oh fucking course, it’s written by middle-aged dudes that look like they’re going through a midlife crisis, what the hell is this sexist bull—_

Letting out a frustrated exhale, he shuts the book with a loud _thump_.

“Shh!”

This time, Chester ignores the librarian. He slumps in his seat, exhaling loudly. He gains another shush in return.

“These books are shit.”

“I’m not surprised,” Rob mutters without looking up. “Read a better book than shitty dating advice books.”

Well, he’s right about that. Anyway, Chester could figure out this Mike-Brad shit out later.

But if that’s the case, what else can he do to pass the time? It’s not like he has any books on his bucket list to go through at the moment.

“Like what?”

“Like…” Rob looks thoughtful for a short second before reaching over to hand Chester a book from his pile. “Here.”

Chester frowns as he examines the front cover. “Harry Potter?”

Rob shrugs in response to that, thumbing a page he’s currently on.

“Shouldn’t I start with the first book? This is like, what? The fifth book?”

“Sixth,” Rob corrects him. “I mean, if you want to start with the first book, you could. But you gotta go grab it yourself. I don’t have it on me.”

“Nah, I’m good. I don’t mind spoilers,” Chester says as he pries the book open, landing on a random page. “I’ll probably forget about it afterwards anyway.”

The part about the spoilers is a total lie. Chester does, in fact, mind spoilers. He might have not read the series but he’s seen all the movies that have been made so far. Plus, reading the Harry Potter series is one of the things on his bucket list. According to Mike, they’re pretty great.

That is, if he ever has time to crack a book open. Maybe after they’re done with recording the album.

Rob nods absentmindedly, burying his nose back in his book.

As much as Chester loves reading, he hasn’t been much of a book reader lately. He’s always busy with work and when he’s not busy with work, he’s off catching up on his sleep schedule. Now that he thinks about it, since he’s going to be stuck in Book Prison for a while, he might as well take a power nap or maybe even head out for  a smoke.

Oh well. He has already made up his mind, anyway. Books, it is.

Mike would be so proud of him.

Thankfully for him, Chester lands on a page that doesn’t seem like there’s much going on. But it’s not mundane at all. Ron, one of Harry’s best friends, has eaten several chocolates and spewing some shit about being in love with some girl that he’s not supposed to be in love with. Harry freaks out and Ron freaks out and then they fight and then Ron whacks Harry, which Chester thinks is pretty funny. And that’s when Harry realizes that the chocolates were spiked with a love potion and—

Wait.

Love potion.

A love potion. It’s designed to make the drinker attracted to…to…

Oh. _Oh_.

Maybe if Chester tried making one, Mike and Brad might finally get it out of their systems and start dating each other so everything goes back to normal and everybody will be happy. It wouldn’t be as bad as what’s written in the book since Mike and Brad are definitely into one another, not like Ron is conditioned into the person who spiked the chocolates.

Anyway, it’s not like magic doesn’t exist. Not the Harry Potter kind, anyway. There’s like Wiccan and the black magic stuff and possibly other stuff he hasn’t heard of. There has to be a recipe for a love potion somewhere.

This could work. This could really, _really_ work. It seems solid.

This will work.

Hopefully Chester doesn’t get socked in the face like Harry did. Because well, he doesn’t plan on ruining his face further. The bulge on his forehead have just healed a few days ago.

“Rob?”

“What?”

Chester breaks into a toothy grin, the excitement running through him getting the better of him. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Rob’s brow furrows. “How am I—?”

Chester doesn’t hear the rest of what Rob says, having dashed off by then.

This could work. This could really, _really_ work.

His body is tingling with anticipation, his mind running a marathon at the thought of it all.

This should work. It has foolproof written all over it.

“Excuse me?” Chester asks, a little breathless as he comes to a stop in front of the front desk.

The librarian doesn’t bother looking up at him, her eyes glued to the monitor as her fingers flutter around the keyboard. He wonders it’s because he’s been disrupting her typical mundane Tuesday.

But hey, Chester’s the farthest from mundane. He’s always coloring somebody’s life wherever he goes.

“Yes?”

Now this would seem strange to Chester but somehow, just the word alone makes him freeze up, the excitement he’s been feeling evaporated.

Maybe it’s the coarse way she speaks or it could be the ever-present scowl etched on her face but she’s giving out ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ vibes. Which makes asking about books about magical potions that may not exist more stupid because she’ll turn to him and pin him with that glare of hers and that’ll turn him into dust.

Chester doesn’t want to turn into dust. Hell, PR wouldn’t like him to turn into dust and wind up in the news either.

He needs to approach this carefully. Very carefully.

“Well, I know this is gonna sound stupid because well, I doubt any kind of Book Pri— I mean, _library_ would hold something like this but—”

Chester almost whacks his head against the countertop. Why is getting tongue-tied all of a sudden? What the hell is wrong with him?

He’s Chester fucking Bennington, for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be intimidated by some old lady.

The librarian finally turns to him, her hawk-like gaze piercing him. It’s very, very unnerving. “Sonny,” she begins as she continues to type. How she could type shit out without even looking at the screen is mindboggling. “I got 394 books to catalogue at the moment so if ya could just cut to the chase, I’ll be more than grateful.”

“Oh. Right.” Chester clears his throat, hoping his nerves would wither away. Right now. “So I was wondering if you would, uh, have any, uh…?”

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. After all, why would some random Book Prison have any books on magic? Fucking magic, of all things?

He should’ve went to a shop that deals with this stuff, not here.

Plus, the librarian, while old and wrinkly, could whoop his ass into the next century for talking gibberish. For all he knows, she has a trusty walking stick that she could easily whip out and knock him on the head with.

“You know what?” Chester begins, taking a step back, eager to dash out of the building and dunk himself into the nearest basin of iced water. “Let’s just forget we had this conversation and—”

The librarian heaves a loud sigh, finally halting her typing. “Boy,” she drawls, her accent thickening for some reason, “just spill it out. I ain’t have all day. I ain’t gonna judge ya for it.” She pauses to adjust her drooping glasses – a pair of neon yellow ones that easily stands out from her dark skin. “‘Sides, whatever it is ya got stuck on ya tongue is probably not the worst thing I’ve heard.”

Okay, she might have a point there. She looks like she’s seen or heard some shit over the years. She must’ve heard worse from other people. He’ll never know until he tries.

Besides, he’s already embarrassed himself. He might as well go all the way. She probably does even know who he is so it’s not like he’s going to have some random headline splashed on some dumb tabloid saying he’s dabbling in voodoo and planning to cast it on Coldplay or some other band they are ‘feuding’ with.

Hopefully.

Chester inhales deeply, trying to wrestle his anxiety down. “Er, right. So… Like I said this is gonna some dumb but do you have a book on, uh, potions?”

The librarian’s eyebrows knit together. “Potions?”

“You know, like magic. Witchcraft shit. I don’t know. Harry Potter is definitely not real so I guess stuff like Wicca? I think?” Chester worries the bottom of his lip, his brain gradually losing to his anxiety by the second. “Please no black magic stuff. I don’t wanna make a potion that’ll—”

“In the ‘Spirituality and New Age’ section.”

“—summon Satan and have him devour— Wait what?”

She pins him with an unamused glance as she crosses her arms. She seems to have a preference for neon yellow since her bracelets are adorned with large beads of a similar shade. “Ya heard me, boy. ‘Spirituality and New Age. It’s six aisles down from here. On the left.”

Chester blinks, trying to process the information. “Wait, you actually have spellbooks?”

She shoots him a look that he could assume is a ‘well, duh’. “It’s a library, son. ‘Course we have spellbooks. What kind of library would we be if we don’t have everything?”

“I don’t know,” Chester says honestly, hoping he isn’t offending her. The last thing he wants is having a walking stick in his mouth. “It just seems kinda weird, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”

The librarian doesn’t bother replying, grunting instead as she returns to her task.

That’s fine by Chester, who takes his cue to run off.

Well, he survived. Barely. He didn’t expect her to say the things she did but hey, at least she didn’t try tossing him out of Book Prison for trying to dabble in satanic shit. Or something of the like.

Just as she said, there’s a row of books dedicated to magic tucked at the end of the ‘Spirituality and New Age’ section. The fact that there’s even books on magic in a public Book Prison blows his mind.

Never underestimate Book Prisons, he supposes.

Despite having a whole row dedicated to magic, there’s only three books about potion-making. The first couple of books he plucks off the shelf, while intriguing, don’t hold what Chester’s looking for.

As he places the second book back in its place, a thought trickles into his mind.

What if it doesn’t work? What if all this shit is bogus and Mike and Brad don’t act on their feelings?

But it wouldn’t matter, would it? If it doesn’t work, nothing would happen. Mike and Brad will just continue running around the mulberry bush and Chester would have to formulate something else.

That is, if he can even find anything on love.

“Well,” Chester mutters as he flips through the last book, “only one way to find out.”

Unlike the rest of the books, there’s a subject index at the back, which makes his search a whole lot easier. Each single deity in the universe must’ve decided to toss him a bone because he finally finds it – the sacred potion.

 _LOVE POTION NUMBER NINE_  
_While typical love potions are designed to…_

Chester frowns. The rest of the passage is illegible. Just like the book, the page has seen better days, with yellowed paper and faded ink. It definitely has been around for a couple of decades, minimum. Either that, or whoever that borrowed this previously sucked at taking care of it.

At least Chester could make out what the instructions and most of the ingredients. Sure, there’s still missing letters here and there but he could easily fill in the blanks.

Thank god the ingredients are all stuff he could get at the grocery store. That’ll save their PR team for figuring out how to tackle a sighting of him entering a Wiccan store. And the last thing he needs is the PR team and Mike and Brad for coming after his ass.

This is good, really good. Hopefully it’ll work. Otherwise, Chester’s fucked.

“Dude,” he begins as he returns to Rob and his table. “Can I borrow your Book— Uh, library card real quick?”

God, he needs to stop calling the library ‘Book Prison’. This is just going to make things awkward in the long run, especially since he’ll be coming back here.

Rob glances up from his book, skeptical. “Why?”

“To borrow books, duh.”

Unfortunately for Chester, Rob doesn’t let it go. “But what book?”

Chester is tempted to whack him with the spellbook, which he has hid behind his back. Why is it Rob’s business on what he wants to borrow?

Anyway, he doesn’t need Rob knowing what he’s up to. For all he knows, he might bring this up to the rest of the guys and Chester could be kicked out of the band, just like that.

Luckily for Chester and his career, he doesn’t have to answer Rob.

“Anyway, I can’t give it to you. I’m gonna borrow five books today. That’s the maximum number you can take out with you.” He nudges in the direction of the librarian. “You can go get a card if you want. Don’t worry, Mavis doesn’t know who we are.”

Chester smirks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Mavis, huh?”

Rob rolls his eyes, mumbling to himself again as he returns to his book.

If the potion ends up working, he might try his hand at using it with Rob. His love life has been lackluster too.

As Rob said, Mavis doesn’t bat an eye when Chester fills in his details in the application form. She takes the form back without any hesitation and spends the next several minutes keying in the information. This leaves Chester standing at the counter, waiting for the card to be processed. It’s a little awkward to say the least, hovering over a grumpy old lady while she furiously types on her keyboard, like she wishes she could strangle it.

“Whatcha tryna make?”

Chester whips his head up, snapping out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

The librarian nods at the book on the counter as she types. “The potion ya thinking of making. I doubt ya gonna be read that to your kids before bedtime.”

Chester lets out a nervous chuckle as he wrings his hands. “Guess not. And uh… I’m trying to make a love potion.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Chester almost lets out an ear-piercing scream. The only reason why he doesn’t is because Mavis is boring holes into his skull and Chester appreciates his skull very much.

That’s not the point though. The point is he just told some random lady that he’s planning to make a love potion. A love fucking potion.

God, she better not run off to the press about this. Because holy fucking shit, he doesn’t need everybody up in his case.

Fortunately for him, miracles never cease to amaze Chester because she doesn’t seemed disturbed. He’s wondering if she’s deliberately messing with him.

“I see. Ya ready?”

“For what?”

She fixes him with another knowing look. “For dealing with consequences, of course. Lord knows what ya have planned. It ain’t my business. But with stuff like that, shit’s bound to get messy.”

Chester nods slowly, his frown deepening. This is getting weirder by the second. Some random librarian cautioning him about the consequences of brewing a love potion.

God, even that sentence alone is already weird.

“Yeah,” he answers, mustering as much confidence in his words as he can, “I am.”

Mavis seems unconvinced as she pushes the book and Chester’s shiny new Book Prison card towards him. “I hope ya are.”

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Love Potion Number Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I was suffering from a writer's block and then had to go to a place with pretty bad WiFi. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter nonetheless!

 

 

 

 

 

 

As much as Chester’s raring to go and finally get the two lovebirds together so he can get some good night’s sleep for once, he can’t because magic is dumb as hell. 

Apparently, brewing ‘Love Potion Number Nine’ has its conditions. Which should be fine. Like dumping chicken shit or black truffle in some love potion would be fine with him. Gross but fine.

But the fact that the stupid thing needs to be made on the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month is just dumb. There isn’t any explanation as to why. Not that he can read the thing considering half of the text has faded. But it’s still dumb. Wizards are dumb.

On the bright side, at least he doesn’t need to brew it on the ninth month or a year with a nine in it. And he has about a week left to that very special day.

Until then, he has to bide his time. It’s not like he can do anything about it anyway.

So Chester spends his time recording an album, hanging out with friends, and losing his sanity over his two idiotic friends who apparently can’t get their shit together and just ask each other out.

God, this is why he needs to make that potion. And quickly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

His confidence wanes on the day before Concoction Day.

Now, Chester’s hardly ever disheartened. In fact, he’d say he’s a pretty confident guy. When he’s not wallowing in his self-misery, his anxiety catching up to him, or listening to the voices swimming around in his head anyway.

But frankly, Chester does have every right to be worried. After all, he’s setting his friends up. By using magic. And magic doesn’t exist.

And even if magic does exist and the stupid thing works, there’s a bajillion other ways it could go wrong. What if the potion chooses the wrong person? What if the stupid thing can’t figure out who Mike or Brad likes and either one of them somehow winds up falling in love with Chester or something much, much worse?

God, he can’t imagine being in love with either one of them. He doesn’t like guys like that. Chester could openly say how hot some guys are but he wouldn’t want to fuck them. He finds them aesthetically pleasing, not for…you know…

They’re just not for him.

So to avoid the possibility of that happening because god knows how he’s going to figure that out, he brainstorms the whole morning.

Since Mike’s busy with the rest of the guys for the day, Chester excuses himself from the room to ‘work on song lyrics alone without you guys up my ass’.

Which is why he’s currently in a stuffy closet, whacking his head against the door because his brain cells suddenly decided to not cooperate.

So much for being great with coming up with ideas.

“This is fucking hopeless,” he mumbles to himself. He pauses the banging to grind his forehead further onto the wooden surface. “I am fucking hopeless. This is so fucking stupid. Why did I think—? Hey!”

It’s a good thing Chester didn’t try whacking his head on the door again. Otherwise, he’ll have a nice round bruise on his forehead again. And just when the first one healed.

But he does end up tripping over his own feet. If a pair of hands hadn’t gripped his arms in time, he wouldn’t have a squished nose too.

“Chester?” Brad begins. “The fuck are you doing in there?”

Right. Brad. Just who he needs to see at the moment.

Chester waves his concern off, steadying his feet on the ground. “You know. Writing lyrics.”

Brad raises an eyebrow. “In a closet?”

“You know, what they say,” Chester answers, “people find inspiration in the unlikeliest places.”

Brad snorts in return. “Next thing you’re gonna say is that you get your ideas while taking a shit.” He pauses, watching Chester’s grin spread across his face. “Okay, didn’t need to know that.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t get your ideas while sitting on a toilet bowl, shitting out—”

Brad’s eyes widen, making a gagging noise. “Dude, I didn’t need to know that.” He heaves a sigh, threading his fingers through his hair. “Seriously you and your stupid toilet humor boggles…”

After that, Chester checks out because Brad’s lectures get really old fast. As much as he loves the dude, Chester detests his lectures. They’re always so preachy and repetitive and his hair is—

Wait, what does his hair have to do with his lectures? And why is Brad fluffing them up while he’s yakking like…like…

Wait.

Hair.

Brad’s hair.

That’s it.

If Chester adds a strand of his hair into the potion and gives it to Mike, he could avoid having Brad or Mike falling in love with him. Consuming Brad’s DNA would have a lesser chance of the potion coming to bite him in the ass.

It’ll be gross. But it should work. Doesn’t lot of movies and books use people’s DNAs in their love potions after all?

“—and hiding in a closet will not—”

“Brad?”

Surprisingly, Brad’s rant comes to a screeching halt. “Yeah?”

There are many things that send Brad into a frenzy, like laying a finger on his favorite guitar or drinking the last can of root beer. But nothing disturbs Brad more than anything than what Chester’s about to say.

“I don’t really know how to say this but uh…” Chester gestures towards the bird’s nest on his friend’s head. “You have a… Well… You got a white strand.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a white strand growing between Brad’s puffy hair. But hey, that’s the only way Chester could get his DNA without Brad freaking out.

Well, without Brad finding out about Chester’s scheme. The freaking out thing is a given.

And people say Chester’s the dramatic one in the band.

It’s fine though. Sure, his ears will be ringing for a while but at least Chester has a part of Brad in his grasp. He’s going to finally get them together, let them bang it out, fall in love, or whatever the hell the potion is supposed to make them do.

Probably fall in love, or at least, finally proclaim their eternal affection for one another. Chester is going to be handing them a love potion after all.

It would be weird, seeing them all lovey-dovey. But he’ll have to get use to it. He’s already seen them trade those weird glances. He could get used to a couple more.

Chester exhales through his nostrils as he rolls out of bed, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. He’s greeted by the sight of a light drizzle.

While Chester has been accustomed to the sweltering heat being from Arizona and all, having a gentle breeze and cool rainfall is a welcoming change of pace, especially since it’s been unusually hot lately.

There’s a part of him that wishes to lounge in bed longer, maybe catch up on his sleep schedule. It’s perfect weather to curl under the covers and fall asleep to.

He can’t though, not today. Today it’s one of the rarer days he has the energy to leave his bed. He might as well take advantage of it. After all, he has things to do.

Getting out of bed has always been difficult for Chester. But things have been fucked up ever since the divorce. While there’s a part of him that loathes Sam with every fiber of his being, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he misses her presence. Physical presence, anyway. None of the hell she’d raise or the bullshit she’d spew but just being able to wake up next to another.

Especially in this weather, nestling his head in between her breasts while she gently strokes his head and—and—

His eyelids squeeze shut, forcefully willing his thoughts away. This isn’t the time to dwell on that. The longer he dwells on it, the harder it will be to crawl out of the rabbit hole. And he doesn’t need to fall into it, not when he’s feeling energized. Not when he has a potion to brew.

Besides, Sam isn’t worth thinking about. Even if she was a good fuck and comfortable to cuddle with, she’s not worth any gold or gem in the universe.

Putting on his glasses and grabbing the spellbook off his bedside table, Chester trudges into his kitchen. A yawn escapes his lips as he stretches his arms over his head. Chester loves a good stretch in the morning. It starts his day on the right foot.

Besides a reliable fresh cup of coffee.

As he waits for his coffee to finish brewing, he lets his thoughts drift, which he immediately finds out is a humongous mistake because _she_ pops up in his mind. Muttering a curse to himself, he decides to pull out all the ingredients he needs.

It’s a good thing he spent the night before prepping. It earned him at least thirty minutes more in Slumberland.

Now, there’s another problem he came across last night – the ingredients.

The weird thing about the stupid potion is that the ingredients come in nines – nine drops of apple juice, nine red rose petals, nine equal pieces of a ginseng root, etcera. Hell, the potion even has nine main components. Nine parts of nine ingredients to brew ‘Love Potion Number Nine’.

Whoever that made this potion sure loves the number nine, huh. It’ll make a good tongue twister though.

On the other hand, if he adds Brad’s hair into the potion, it’ll make it ten main ingredients. That would upset the balance of all the freaking nines in this stupid thing. And if he ends up putting it in, would it mess up the potion? It’s not like the book asked for it.

Though then again, how is the potion going to work its magic if it can’t pinpoint on who Mike should fall in love with.

Chester plonks himself on a bar stool, cracking the spellbook open. He’s read through it countless of times, from start to finish. There’s a wide variety that Chester can’t believe such things would exist, from stuff on healing to repairing relationships to even getting richer.

Oh, if only he had the divorce one or the relieving addiction one. Really would’ve saved him so much trouble and heartache back in the day.

But whatever. That doesn’t matter now. What matters now is getting Mike and Brad together so they should stop acting like dumbasses and fuck.

Hopefully the potion isn’t going to be some intense aphrodisiac that makes Mike immediately jump Brad and strip right in the studio booth and shove his tongue down his throat and—

Okay, he’s going to stop there. Chester has a wandering mind and there’s no fucking chance he’s going to visualize Brad naked. Or Mike. Or the both of them getting off to each other. That’s just gross. Really, really gross. Mike and Brad having sex is the last thing—

His phone starts vibrating, cutting through Chester’s thoughts. It’s an incoming call from Mike.

 _Speak of the devil_ , he muses as he accepts the call.

“Well, well, well,” Chester begins breezily as he skims through the spellbook absentmindedly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He could hear the eye-roll his best friend does on the other end of the call. “Just checking to see if you’re awake.”

“Hey, what makes you think I won’t be?”

“Dude, you oversleep all the time. I have to come drag you out of bed sometimes.”

Oh, well. That’s true. Just last week, Chester did just that. He woke up low as all hell and refused to leave the bed. Mike had swung by, frantic and worried. They ended up lying on the floor, talking and eating Frosted Flakes out of the box. He still felt terrible but he was in a much different place by the end of the day.

Mike’s a great friend. Chester doesn’t deserve him.

“Well, not today,” he points out.

Mike lets out a chuckle. “I guess not. It’s not like I can tell, anyway.” He hears the clinking of cutlery on Mike’s end. “Anyway, I called to remind you that, Rick’s coming over to check in on us in the afternoon.”

Right, of course. The great Rick Rubin’s a busy man, off producing other artists’ work like theirs. However unlike others (that he’s aware of), Rick mostly acts as a consultant on the album, making sure they’re on the right path.

“Of course I remember,” Chester says, his gaze flickering over the pages, skimming through the recipe for the thousandth time. “He always comes by on Saturdays.”

_Caution: Do not allow anyone other than the one you wish to bestow this upon to look at, touch, or drink the love potion._

“Right. Right…”

There’s an awkward pause, which for some reason unsettles Chester. Before he could ask about it, Mike resumes speaking.

“But no, I just… I just wanted to talk to you. You know…”

“What?” Chester sits up straighter, his full attention now on his best friend. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Mike exclaims, sounding embarrassed. “Nothing’s wrong. I just… I just miss talking to you.”

Chester expels a nervous laugh. “We just talked yesterday.”

“I know but I just… I just wanted to hear your voice. Is all.”

Chester’s body stills.

There’s something in Mike’s tone that makes his insides feel funny. Not like butterflies-funny. Like something warm, stirring. Like his stomach’s filled with warm milk and somebody’s stirring it. Or something like that.

It’s not the first time he’s had that before but it has been a long time. Well, since he’s been conscious of the feeling. Chester spends too much time in his brain to catch up on other parts of himself sometimes.

Which, is why he’s going to ignore it. And his cheeks. Definitely his cheeks.

It’s a little chilly and the only reason why they’re warm is because that humans are warm-blooded. Yes, exactly that reason.

His gaze zeros back onto the cautionary sentence.

“Hey, um…” Chester almost face-palms. God, why did Mike have to say stupid shit like that? “Are you at the mansion yet?”

“Not yet,” Mike replies. “I’m just making myself a sandwich.”

Chester’s ears perk at that, the awkwardness on his end dissipating. “Ooh, what kind?”

“Just regular white bread and PBJ.” Chester couldn’t help but snicker at that. “What?”

“Nothing,” he sighs, shaking his head. “You’re too cute for your own good. Never change, Mikey.”

Mike doesn’t reply for a couple of seconds. Chester almost checks in on in if he hadn’t beaten him to the punch.

“So, um…” Mike trails off, sounding distracted. “What’re you having? For breakfast, I mean.”

“The drink of the gods,” Chester replies, throwing a sideway glance behind him. Sure enough, his mug sits, full of wonderful, sweet coffee. “And probably a sandwich too. PBJ.”

Mike laughs. “Can’t go wrong with the classics, right?”

“Exactly,” Chester says, grinning, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder. “Also… I’m in the middle of experimenting with something. And, uh… I was wondering if you’ll like to be my first taste tester.”

“Oh,” Mike says, sounding curious. “What did you make?”

Chester almost drops his mug.

Oh right.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Okay, so he didn’t think that far ahead. He can’t spew out a, _Hey, I made a love potion filled with random shit like ginseng and basil leaves and there’s too many nines in this stupid thing and anyway, this potion is for you to grow a pair and ask Delson out so could you fucking_ please _drink this thing?_

God, he only said that. Instead, he says the most dumbest thing he could think off.

“Apple juice.”

Chester could feel the appropriate skepticism radiating from his phone. “You’re experimenting with…apple juice?”

“Mm hmm.” Chester mentally prays to every single god in the world to save him, hoping they’d bestow him enough power for him to bullshit his way through this conversation. “If you wanna know what kind of experimenting I’m doing with, you should stop by.”

“You’re not gonna poison me, are you?”

Chester glances up at his wall clock – the attraction of his kitchen. It’s a weird one. The numbers are all jumbled up and in big block letters, it spells out ‘Who gives a shit?’ in the middle. It’s one of the best gifts he has ever gotten, courtesy of Dave several Christmases ago.

It’s 8.55am. Five more minutes until showtime.

“Please, as if I have nothing better to do than poison my best friend. Sides’, if I wanted you poisoned, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Chester raises his mug to his lips, taking a short sip.

Oh god, he loves coffee, all the flavors clashing together and bringing out the sweetness underneath all that bitterness.

“True… Well, in that case. I guess I can stop by.” Mike pauses, probably checking the time. “In like…twenty minutes. I just need to— Aw, shit.”

Chester’s brow furrows. “What? Something happened?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, sighing. “My hand’s covered in jelly and I forgot about that so I was messing with my hair and…”

Chester freezes on the spot.

Hair.

Mike’s hair.

The potion.

Hair.

Oh shit. Oh, fucking _shit_.

The hair. He forgot about Brad’s hair. And he only has about five minutes left and fuck, he’s fucked.

Oh shit. Oh, fucking _shit_.

“What?” Mike’s concerned voice interrupting his thoughts.

Chester’s thoughts come to a screeching halt for a split second,

Shit, did he say that out loud? God, how much did he give away? Did he hear him say Brad’s name? Did he say anything about potions and—

“Did something—?”

“I’ll call you back,” Chester breathes out.

“Wait! Ches—”

Chester flips his phone shut, tossing it carelessly onto the countertop. He tenses at the rough clacketing. Well, it’s not like he can’t afford another phone. But still, it’ll be terrible to lose it.

But that’s not his priority. His priority is the fucking potion.

Now if he knew that he’d be gathering DNA for his potion yesterday, he would’ve brought a Ziploc or any kind of sealable piece of plastic to keep it untainted and lessen the possibility of losing it.

But _no_ like the idiot he is, he pockets the thing in one of the pockets of his hoodie. So now he dumped it in his laundry basket and fuck, he only has five minutes left.

“Fuck, where is it?” he whisper-yells as he paws through his laundry. It isn’t a nice feeling, going through clothes that haven’t been washed for about a week.

Or a nice smell to be around.

Note to self: Do the laundry later.

But whatever, that’s not the point? What’s important is where is that fucking thing? Is it at the bottom of the basket? How can it be when he practically just dumped the stupid thing last night and—?

“Ah ha!” Chester yells, triumphantly, plucking a strand off his hoodie. He’s definitely going to get strongly-worded complaints from his neighbors like he usually does. But it’s fine. He’ll deal with them later when he’s done with his potion and—

Oh fuck, the potion. How much time has passed.

Thankfully, when he returns to the kitchen, the clock is about to strike nine. Is he ever glad he got everything ready the night before. He’s not glad that the stupid author of the potion decided to make everything revolving around nine though.

For the next couple of minutes, Chester concentrates on brewing the potion, making sure he doesn’t perform a misstep. It isn’t that difficult all the around. He’d even say it’s just like cooking. All he needed to do is dump everything into a metal pot, Brad’s pesky curl which Chester ends up chopping into nine equal pieces and stirs it nine times while reciting a really dumb incantation that makes him want to fall off the planet.

_Let the one who drinks this wine shower their sweet with love divine, sweet love potion number nine make their love forever benign._

_Nine_ times.

God, is he sick of that number. He never wants to see that number ever again.

But _no_ , he has to let the potion simmer for nine fucking minutes, blow on it nine fucking times, and bless it in the name of nine fucking love goddesses and oh god, if only he could strangle whoever that thought this was a brilliant idea.

Chester should’ve just went online to find a simpler recipe instead of settling for some outdated one in a dusty, neglected shelf in a public library.

Fortunately for his sanity, all he needed to do afterwards is strain the liquid, bottle it up, and put it in the fridge. Thankfully, none of that requires him to do it nine times, thank fucking god. Otherwise, he’d have to throw himself off the roof of his house. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea but well, Mike wouldn’t like that very much.

If there’s one thing he realized during this whole process is that he is definitely not cut out for the wizard life. Or one that involves the number nine, anyway.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He’s in the midst of wrapping his towel around his waist when the doorbell rings.

Chester frowns in confusion. Who could be at his door at this moment? It’s pretty early in the morning. Nobody he knows would ever— Oh wait.

Right. How could he ever forget about him?

He has to mentally calm his rattling nerves, the grin that’s playing on his lips. Hell, he’s lurching around like an excited puppy on steroids.

He needs to stop doing that, making himself obvious. Otherwise, he could kiss this scheme goodbye and return to the drawing board.

Again. For the millionth time.

“Hey, Mike,” Chester greets his friend, a little breathless and jumpy.

Fuck, so much for being subtle. But whatever. He’ll chalk it up to the coffee he drank not long ago.

As usual, Mike’s dressed in another plaid shirt and black jeans. Ever since they started working on the album, he’s been showing up in plaid much more often. Today, it’s red and black. It’s a typical color combination among plaid shirts but fuck, Mike pulls it off flawlessly. Then again Mike looks good in anything, especially plaid shirts. Hell, he even looks really good in bright magenta and neon yellow, which is the worst combination ever.

It’s a good thing that Mike decided to forego baggy shirts for well-fitted plaids because Jesus, he pulls them off really well and it really accentuates his shoulders and—

Okay, what the hell are those thoughts? Did he just spend like several minutes thinking about how much Mike looks good in plaid?

Seriously?

Chester’s positive that he spaced out (or ogling Mike, maybe, he isn’t sure if that’s even considering ogling) for quite some time. And yet Mike seems distracted. For one, he seems to be avoiding his gaze. In fact, he has his gaze pointed down at…

Oh. Oh right.

Chester’s still shirtless. And a little wet. And only wearing a towel around his waist. But it isn’t the first time he’s shown himself like this to Mike so he has no freaking clue as to why Mike’s spacing out right now.

“Er, Mike?” Chester says slowly, waving a hand in front of him. “You okay?”

Mike blinks rapidly, his dark gaze meeting Chester’s. The fog behind his eyes has suddenly vanished. “Oh, uh Yeah. Hey. Hi. Er, yeah. Hi.”

Chester frowns, puzzled. “You alright? You look distracted.”

Mike’s head twitches as his brow furrows. “What? Me? Distracted?” he begins, his voice a little higher than usual. “No! I’m good. Really good. So, uh…” He cranes his neck, his gaze pointed behind Chester. “What happened back there? When we were on the phone? I tried calling you back but you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh, er…”

Chester almost mentally slaps himself. Why is his brain short-circuiting right now? He should just spit out a coherent and complete reason like he always could—

“I accidentally left my, uh, apples to uh, burn.”

Wait, no. Not that. That reason doesn’t make sense, what the flying f—

Mike cocks an eyebrow. “You were cooking…apples? I thought you said you were making apple juice?”

_Exactly, you stupid dumbass. What the hell is wrong with you?_

“I was! I, uh, did. But you know, I was uh… Experimenting.”

Mike nods slowly, his lips forming an ‘O’-shape.

Yup, he doesn’t believe Chester in the slightest.

“Are you _sure_ you’re, uh… You don’t plan on poisoning me?”

“Dude,” Chester begins, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest, “why would I spend almost a decade hanging around you and being your best friend to only kill you at the end.”

Mike lifts his shoulders, raising his palms. “I…don’t know. Maybe you’re trying to lull me into some false sense of security and…and…” His voice dies in his throat, his gaze pointed down at Chester’s… Chester’s…

Oh right. Chester’s still shirtless.

He snorts as he side-steps out of the way. “Exactly my point. Whatever, we can discuss whether I’m harboring a secret plan to overthrow you as the sole vocalist of Linkin Park.”

The distraction behind Mike seems to dissipate as he barks out a laugh. “You had your chance, man.”

Chester snickers, his thoughts drifting back to the moment.

God, telling that stupid executive to fuck off was such a glorious moment in his life. One of the best things he’s ever done, if he’s being honest.

After dressing himself in a plain T-shirt and jeans, he hustles back into the kitchen where Mike sits, furiously typing on the keypad of his phone. He quickly drops it onto the countertop face down as Chester saunters over.

“Well, well,” Mike drawls out, “aren’t you excited?”

Chester swallows thickly. God, why is he so transparent sometimes? Or most times?

Or maybe he isn’t, considering how many people doesn’t notice when he spirals down the dark pit of hell. For some odd reason, Mike has always been perceptive of him. Maybe it’s because they’ve been best friends for so long. People tend to notice when their friends act weird if they know them for a long time.

Then again, maybe not. He has friends since Gray Daze days and hell, they never noticed anything weird going on with him.

Mike squints at the potion as Chester slides it across towards him. “That’s…an interesting color. For apple juice. You put red coloring in there or something?”

“Well…not really.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Did you add blood in there? Is this some blood pact that you’re trying to rope me into? ‘Cause that’ll explain why you put it—” Mike holds out the bottle between his fingers, “—in a tiny bottle like that.”

Chester shakes his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “To answer everything you said – no to the first one. Also no to the second. As for the last part, the only reason why I put it in that thing is that mini bottle thingy is ‘cause it’s…not much.”

“Dude,” Mike says. “Nobody makes apple juice just to put it in this thing.”

Chester shrugs. “Just thought it’ll…be…cool.”

He receives a snort in response. “You know, I’m starting to think this isn’t apple juice.”

“Okay, fine. It isn’t,” Chester admits. “But I swear to you this isn’t poison. It won’t kill you.”

Mike’s lips quirk to the side. “Or give me massive diarrhea?”

“Or massive diarrhea,” Chester confirms. “It’s just something I’m trying to experiment with. I _promise_ you won’t die or have massive diarrhea.”

Their eyes meet each other across the counter. It’s a little unnerving, considering the silence that stretches in between it. Mike’s gaze drops below Chester’s face before his eyes dart away. “Okay,” he says, after clearing his throat. “Fine. Gonna destroy my throat for you again.”

Chester grins broadly. “Hey, what are friends for?”

Mike rolls his eyes as he uncorks the bottle. With Chester’s heart in his throat, Mike knocks the drink back.

The faces Mike makes in response to it is cute and funny, to say the least. It’s a mix of confusion, panic, disgust, and acceptance. Chester would probably have similar reactions to drinking that too.

After all, cloves, ginseng, and strawberries? Really?

If there’s any change in Mike, it’s not visible. He’s acting like any normal person does after consuming weird drinks.

“Well?”

Mike blinks a couple of times before grimacing. “Damn. This isn’t apple juice. This is like—” He gives the bottle a little twirl on the counter between his fingers. “—a fruit cocktail? Mocktail, I guess. I don’t—” He cuts himself off as he makes a grab for the bottle that has slipped from his grasp. “—taste any alcohol in this.”

Chester tilts his head. “Well… Yeah, I guess it isn’t actually apple juice. I did put a bunch of other stuff. And no. No alcohol.”

“I knew it.” Mike purses his lips, looking contemplative. “Well, it’s definitely…an acquired taste. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just kinda sour. And bitter. I don’t know, it’s a little weird. You tried it yourself, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Chester lies. “I did think it’s a little sour. I might try putting sugar in there next time.”

“Mm hmm.” Mike swirls his lips with his tongue, frowning. Chester finds his gaze lingering on the movement way longer than he should. “You put cherry in this?”

“Cherry soda.”

“Explains a lot.” Mike exhales deeply. “You know how I feel ‘bout cherry soda. Or cherry in general.”

“Hey, it’s a substitute for the red wine, okay?”

“Yeah but I mean, you could’ve gone for red grape juice or cranberry juice or—”

“Wow,” Chester interrupts, lifting an eyebrow. “The one time I allow you to be a food critic, you go full-on Gordon Ramsay on me.”

“Hey, you did ask for my opinions,” Mike says defensively. “And I wasn’t spitting out ‘fucks’ every five seconds.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Chester emphasizes. “ _Yet’s_ the word.”

Mike shakes his head fondly. “Gordon isn’t a wine expert so that isn’t even a good comparison either.” He thumbs the bottle in his hand absentmindedly. “What’re you call this?”

“Call what?”

Mike holds the bottle up. “I mean, the name of this mocktail. All cocktails have names. Shouldn’t you name yours too?”

The answer falls out of Chester’s lips before he could stop himself.

“Love Potion Number Nine.”

He fights off the sudden urge to bash his face onto the floor.

Why the fuck did he say that? Did he really want to shoot himself in the foot today? What the hell?

Mike barks out an incredulous laugh. “Dude, I think love potions should taste sweet, not…whatever this is.”

“Okay fine,” Chester amends, his mouth apparently running on automatic for some unexplainable reason. “How ‘bout Apple Juice?”

Mike tosses him a look of disbelief, fighting off the grin that’s threatening to appear. “God, no! You could hardly taste the apple juice in this thing anyway.”

Chester’s about to retort when his phone vibrates on the countertop. This time, it’s a text from Brad.

_Yo where r u? it’s almost 10 wtf man. Get your ass out of bed!!!_

Well, apparently people who are into each other drag their mutual friend out of bed. Typical.

“Brad’s being an ass again,” Chester says as he pockets the device.

“Why? He thinks you’re oversleeping again?”

Chester points a finger-gun at Mike. “Bingo,” he says before finishing his coffee in several swigs. It’s lukewarm, having been neglected ever since he hopped into the shower. As much as he’d like to savor the taste, he has to get going soon. “Why didn’t he text you?”

Mike shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean, I'm always punctual.”

That’s a total lie. While not as often as Chester, Mike has definitely been late to work. And in all those instances, Brad never laid him out for it the way he lays out Chester. And it’s totally because Brad is not bias and is not head over heels in love with Chester. Without a shadow of a doubt.

“Sure,” he says slyly. “ _Sure_.”

As he turns to wash his mug, Mike’s voice fills his ears.

“You look…”

Chester pauses, casting Mike a sideways glance. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mike replies, sounding reluctant. “Nothing at all.”

Chester frowns, spinning on his heel. Mike has his gaze to the floor, brushing his thumb over the glass bottle. A shade of bright pink dusts his cheeks.

“C’mon,” Chester says, “spit it out. It can’t be bad, whatever you wanna say—”

“You look good,” Mike says suddenly. He slowly faces upwards, his coffee colored orbs landing on Chester’s. “Like really good. Beautiful.”

Beautiful.

Chester. Beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Sure, Mike has said this about him before. But he’s always said that about his soul or when he’s being playful. Something tells Chester this isn’t either of those times.

“Damn dude,” Chester says, choking out a nervous laugh. “I know I called it a love potion and all. You didn’t need to act like it is one.”

“But it’s the truth,” Mike insists. “I don’t know. Just wanted to tell you that.”

There’s a shy smile playing on his lips and his eyelashes are fluttering and…and…

Oh. _Oh._

But wait, why is Mike flirting with him? Did the potion not work? Did the potion make Mike fall for—?

No, it can’t be. Mike could just be in a flirty mood. The potion might’ve triggered the flirty part of his brain. If that is even a thing.

Besides, Brad isn’t here yet. Maybe Mike’s flirty attitude would be cranked up when they meet.

Hopefully. Chester will have to just wait and see.

“Okay Romeo, keep your pants on. Let’s just go before Brad decides to skin me alive.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The recipe for this particular potion does exist, which can be found here: https://www.spellsofmagic.com/spells/love_spells/relationship_spells/5960/page.html 
> 
> I wrote a slightly different version of this potion in order to fit this story. You'll find out how as this story goes along. ;)


	5. In Between

 

 

 

 

 

If anybody ever asks his first thoughts upon meeting the legendary and iconic Rick Rubin, Chester would reply without any hesitation,  _Goddamn, what a beard._

Seriously, the man could dress up as Dumbledore for Halloween and nobody would bat an eye. If anybody could make him wear anything but baggy shorts and loose T-shirts, that is. 

Or Gandalf. Or Santa. Santa’s good too. For Christmas though. If anybody could make him suit up. 

Though Chester hasn't seen anybody dress up as Santa for Halloween before. Maybe he do that this year. To stand out from the crowd and all.

But besides the glorious beard and questionable choice in fashion, the dude’s pretty chill. And knowledgeable. Seriously, you could conduct a lobotomy and the depth of his musical wisdom is bottomless. It's wisdom like his that they need to learn and evolve.

Not just that, Rick has been a big help for Mike, easing his burden with coaching him, having bestowed another title – producer.

Chester's aware that Mike has been suffering from the pressure of being a producer, having confided in him of his worries during the early days of recording. Sure, he’s been producing their past couple of albums, but it’s easier then since nobody actually looked to him as the producer for those albums. It’s always been an unspoken thing Mike does and their previous producers taking all the credit.

Fucking assholes.

Anyway, speaking of Mike—

“—to Planet Bennington. Anybody home?”

Chester whips his head upwards, snapping out of his thoughts. “Huh, what?”

He could hear a couple of quiet snickers coming from Joe's direction. Six pairs of eyes are on him, as if expecting an answer. But why in the world are they—?"

Oh. Right. They’re having a band meeting with Rick.

Right.

“Uh, if you guys want my opinion,” he starts, ruffling his hair, “I can’t give it 'cause I have no idea on what we're discussing.”

“Obviously,” Brad snaps, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Next to him, Dave elbowed him in the ribs. “What?”

What the hell’s up with him? Brad’s being a dick for no apparent reason. Sure Chester wasn’t listening and yeah, that is his fault, but Brad didn’t need to be a dick about it.

And it's a joke. A lame joke, but a joke nonetheless. Hell, even Rick cracked a smile at his terrible quip.

Chester would’ve given Brad a piece of his mind had Mike not done it in his stead. Unfortunately lacking the fire and venom Chester would’ve sprinkled in his own words. But hey, this might be the best in the long run.

“He’s tired. Cut him some slack.”

Brad snorts, sinking further into the couch opposite Mike and Chester. “You do ten times his workload and I don’t see you spacing out during meetings.”

“That’s different and you know it,” Mike retorts, leaning closer towards Chester. There’s an edge of annoyance and disappointment in his tone. “You shouldn’t discount anybody’s feelings. I thought you know better than to do that.”

Chester couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at Mike's words.

Now, that’s not what he expected.

It’s not news that Mike has always been his Number One defender. No matter what happens, Mike always does everything in Chester's best interests, even giving him the wake up call he needed back in the day. Therefore, Chester shouldn’t be surprised at his sudden aggression. This isn't new.

But the thing is Mike’s dosed with 'Love Potion Number Nine'. And with Brad’s DNA, for Christ’s sake. Him being aggressive towards Brad should be nonexistence.

Unless the potion wore off but it can’t be this quickly, right? It’s barely been, what? Forty minutes?

Speaking of Mike, he’s acting weirdly ever since Chester gave him the potion.

Chester expected it as much. After all, giving your best friend a love potion without them knowing is possibly going to pose some weird results.

At first, things went normal enough. Mike offered to give him a ride to the studio and they spent the ride joking and talking about everything under the sun. Just like they always do.

But despite the typical banter, there was something off about Mike. He'd laugh too loudly at Chester’s jokes, fidget in his seat, and won’t stop glancing his way.

It’s just so weird. It’s like he’s…he’s—

Then again, Mike could be nervous about seeing Brad and maybe, just maybe, being near Chester makes him feel better. Chester’s familiar territory. Chester’s his best friend.

Chester’s not the man Mike’s in love with.

However he’s quickly cast aside when they reached the mansion. Mike had immediately strode to Brad’s side and tugged him into a quiet conversation. Chester would’ve felt happier about it had they not tossed him a strange look between whispers.

Now,  _that’s_  not what he wants. As much as Chester's hoping they'd finally get together, it won't be at the expense of their friendships.

Seriously, if that stupid, fucking potion—

“—he goes again.”

Seriously, who pissed in his cereal today?

Did Mike tell Brad that he was hanging around at good ol’ Chester Bennington’s place? Is he mad that he’s spending time with him instead of his crush/love interest/fuck buddy?

Well, fuck him for being mad. Mike’s his best friend, for fuck’s sake. Just because they’re in love or secretly or whatever, doesn’t mean that Chester’s friendship privileges need to be revoked.

“Lay off him, alright?” Mike cautions, beating Chester to the punch again. He squeezes Chester’s thigh, possibly out of assurance. How the hell did it get there Chester has no clue. “If you have nothing nice to say it, just shut the fuck up.”

Okay, so that was unexpected. Hell, even the rest of the guys look surprised at Mike's sudden display of anger. It's not often that Mike gets riled up. 

Brad’s frown deepens, his lips twisted in a thin grimace. “You know, Chester can speak for himself, right?”

Chester finds his body freezing up.

Fuck. Just that sentence alone takes him back, back to the days when he'd drink and snort as much cocaine as he can. Brad used that often during his fights with Mike. He's always hated how they'd often fight over Chester, Brad attack him and Mike on the defense. 

And that's what's happening right now. But it shouldn't. Mike and Brad should be slobbering over one another, not at each other’s throats. Mike shouldn’t be throwing himself to the wolves for Chester. He isn't worth defending, especially over something as dumb as him spacing out.

Mike gives him another squeeze. It doesn’t relax Chester one bit.

No, Mike shouldn’t be defending him. Brad’s right.

“And Chester’s speaking for himself right now,” he starts, his pent-up frustration spilling out. “What the hell’s up with you? I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention but you don’t need to act like as if I caused the apocalypse or something.”

“We have a deadline to meet,” Brad stresses. “And we should afford to be stuck in La La Land and—”

“But Chester’s right,” Joe says, jumping in. “I agree that he should've been paying attention but we can always tell him what he’s missing.”

Brad sighs, visibly exasperated. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with—?”

“Brad,” Dave begins, “let it go.”

“But—”

“Guys.”

Whatever that was on Brad’s lips dies in his throat. Rob always has that effect on people. It’s kind of creepy, if you have to ask Chester. It’s probably because he’s the quietest out of the rest of them. Whenever he speaks, everybody listens.

“We can argue about this later,” Rob continues. “Right now, we should be talking about the album and not wasting Rick’s time.”

Oh fuck. Right. Chester forgot Rick’s in the room with them. This is the first time they’ve squabbled in front of him, which isn’t a good look at all.

Not good at all. 

Sure, they’ve had little debates here and there. Debates always come with meetings. But they've never been this heated, never over something as trivial as Chester being stuck in his head. Chester has always been careful to not drift away.

God, how can he be so careless? And now the band's going to be embarrassed just because of one stupid mistake he made.

Brad's right. He's so fucking right.

“Sorry,” Mike mumbles out. “I shouldn’t have gotten riled up. It was unprofessional of me. It won’t happen again.”

Fuck. Chester even made Mike feel terrible. He shouldn't be dragging him into this mess, fuck fuck  _fuck_.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Rick answers, much to Chester's surprise. “You were just defending your friend. I’ve seen worse arguments between band members, trust me. But as long as the problem is within reason and everybody is able to be polite and amicable in the end, I don’t see a problem with debates.”

He zeroes in on Chester, which doesn’t help his nerves. “While I agree that you should have your complete attention during band meetings, it’s not as dire as Brad’s making it out to be. I’d wholeheartedly agree if this is a normal occurrence, but if I'm not mistaken, this is the first time. Am I right?"

There's a chorus of mumbled agreements. Rick hums satisfactorily. 

"Like Joe said, we can always repeat to him what has been discussed. It's just asking his opinion, anyway. So Brad,” he turns his attention the aforementioned guitarist who’s staring down at his sneakers, “the next time Chester finds himself spacing out, don’t be so hard on him, hm?”

God, he’s definitely Dumbledore in disguise. Dumbledore doing an American accent. And he's bestowing them with his knowledge, what the heck?

Brad nods his head stiffly. “Yeah…” He lifts his head, meeting Chester’s gaze begrudgingly. Though to his credit, he does look somewhat sincere. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to be harsh to you today.”

“It’s fine, man," Chester says. "It's not your fault. S’all good.”

And just like that, the tension in the room dissipates.

Out of the corner of Chester’s eyes, he could hear Mike exhale. He can’t imagine what he must be thinking, having two of his best friends being a part of such an argument. Hell, the fact that Mike decided to defend Chester must’ve been a difficult decision. God knows how he could do this for years. Better yet, why the hell is he even doing this?

Rick nods, seemingly satisfied at what has transpired, even shooting Rob a proud expression. “Anyway, now that that's out of the way, I think we should get back to the discussion at hand. Chester, we were just talking about ‘In Between’. Everybody thinks you should give it go.”

Chester almost groans out at that. This shit again?

Besides the stupid roadblock that is ‘Accident’ (one of these days he’s going to strangle somebody, seriously), another problem that Mike and Chester seem to have is who should sing lead on ‘In Between’.

Typically, it’s a no-brainer. Chester has always been the singer and Mike, the rapper. That’s their dynamic and will always be. Well, that's what they thought anyway.

But ever since Rick have supplied the two god-given advice – to lay rough vocals as soon as they can and blend contrasting elements in a song – and Mike having improved in his singing, Chester have been advocating for Mike to sing on a track. Hell, all of them have been.

And 'In Between' is perfect for Mike. If only he could see it their way.

Seriously, Mike has come a long way with his singing, from the rough demos he had provided Chester during their nu-metal days. Now, his voice is gorgeous. Majestic. Sexy.

“That’s it?” Chester leans backwards, hands behind his head. “You guys know how I feel about it. I'm not singing on that song. It’s Mike’s. Case closed.”

As expected, Mike scowls. “And I still think that’s a terrible idea.”

“C’mon man,” Chester says, recalling the first few days of their writing session. “You were pretty enthusiastic of singing it before.”

Mike doesn’t meet his gaze. “I changed my mind," he says shortly.

“Do you mind me asking you why?” Rick asks kindly.

Mike gnaws at the bottom of his lip, “It’s just that…I’m the rapper. He’s the singer. I shouldn’t be taking his job.”

There’s something in his tone that says that that isn’t the full story. Chester makes a mental reminder to ask him later.

“Dude,” Dave says, “this isn’t about taking anybody’s job. It’s about who does it the best. You’re a great singer man. You knocked it out of the park.”

Chester beams, grateful for Dave’s input. “See?”

“ _But_ to be fair, Mike’s right. We still haven’t heard your take on it.”

And now, he’s taking his gratitude back.

“I doubt I could top that,” Chester argues. “Mike nailed it. Nobody else can sing it the way Mike did.”

“While I do love Mike’s demo,” Rob chimes in as Mike flushes, “it’s better we have something to compare to so all of us can make our own opinions. Including you.”

“I’m serious, man,” Chester insists, “Mike kicked ass. I don’t see why—”

“I know you’re in love with Mikey’s voice and all,” Brad interrupts. There’s a strange edge to his voice which Chester isn’t partial to. Guess he’s still sore about what happened before, “but we should get your take on it too. Just to see how it matches up to Mike’s. Yours might be better.” He tosses an apologetic glance at Mike. “No offense.”

For a split second, Chester forgets where he is and what they’re discussing, his attention suddenly focused on Mike.

Now that the negative tension towards each other has been quelled (hopefully), it’s time to see if the stupid potion is working. Will Mike blush? Will he stammer out a dismissive response? Will he flash Brad a smile brimming of adoration?

Unfortunately, he does none of those. He just shoots him a neutral glance.

Which is perplexing. It doesn’t help that Chester’s already uncomfortable with Brad’s comment. He has to deal with the fact that maybe,  _just_  maybe, the stupid potion thingy isn’t working.

“I agree,” Rick says in a gentle tone that puts Chester a little at ease. “No harm in listening to your version.”

Chester scans the room, staring back at six pairs of eyes. It’s a little intimidating, doing wonders to Chester’s anxiety. That shouldn’t be a surprise though, considering it’s his five friends and non-wizard (unless he is secretly) American Dumbledore is in a middle of a staring contest with him.

Son of a bitch.

“Fine,” Chester relents. He heaves a sigh as he jumps to his feet, Mike’s palm falling off his lap. “I’ll give it a go.”

Like always, it doesn’t take him long to get into the groove of things, even if as unprepared as he is. He's never sung 'In Between' before. It's not his to sing. 

They’ve discussed this before when Mike reluctantly showed the lyrics to Chester. He had penned most of it on his own, Chester coming in to add some minor touches to it. The song seemed personal to him. There was no way he'd wreck it.

It was when he was going through the final version when Mike shyly admitted to wanting to try his hand at singing this song. Chester had jumped at the idea, immediately supportive.

With all of that taken into account, why the hell is he so adamant on giving the song to Chester to sing?

Is he afraid of fucking up? Mike shouldn’t be. Everybody else in the band loves his voice. Hell, Rick freaking Rubin does too. If a legendary and iconic producer like him gives a thumbs-up for your work, it must be some excellent shit.

Then again, Chester hasn’t tried singing yet. As much as he hates to even think of it, Chester could be a better option.

But he isn't. Mike is.

Well, he  _could_  sabotage his recording and everybody else would have no choice but to vote for Mike’s. But he won’t. Chester always gives a hundred percent in everything he does. He won't stop just because of that. It's against his principles.

Plus, he wouldn’t shit all over Mike’s hard work. That’s blasphemous.

Which means, he has to hope that everything would fall into place. Hopefully.

As Chester adjusts his headphones, he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift again. It's kind of hard to when Mike's being weird. Again.

Usually, Mike’s enthusiastic having him in the booth. They’re always up for trading ideas on improvements or just horsing around. Even when Rick’s around, the atmosphere is light.

But for some reason today, Mike seems unsettled. He speaks to Chester in professional and clipped tones. When Chester’s running through vocal ideas with Rick, he watches him strangely. Like he’s…uncomfortable.

Mike’s never uncomfortable having him in the recording booth.

Is he regretting his decision on passing the job to Chester?

Chester doesn’t have time to ask because the bass line kicks in and oh look, there’s his cue. Instinctively, his eyelids flutter shut, the lyrics he has memorized by heart flowing out of his parted lips.

A few minutes later, he gets another mixed signal from Mike as he opens his eyes, the last notes fade into the distance.

Mike’s pinning him with a look. Chester’s seen that look on him before. However, today's different. Like Chester has just floated up to space and plucked a star out of the sky, like he might be, just might be…

God, it’s such a weird thing to think off but Chester can’t find a more appropriate word.

Mesmerized. Mike just might be mesmerized. By his singing, no less.

But he shouldn't. Mike has heard him sing billions of times. He should be sick of it, not staring at him as if he has just opened his mouth for the first time in his life.

The warmth in his stomach makes an unexpected return.

“Well,” Rick begins, pressing the talkback button when Mike doesn’t make a move to do so. Chester snaps out of his thoughts, “I think Mike’s reaction speaks volumes.”

Through the glass, he watches the rest of the band break into laughter and Mike turning a bright red. Chester finds him adorable.

As much as everybody loves Chester's take, everybody unanimously still prefers Mike's, much to Chester’s delight and Mike’s dismay. It’s one of the few times he’s glad things didn’t go his way.

Mike’s an excellent singer and he should be proud of that.

“You’re not offended, are you?” he questions Chester hours later as they head over to Mike’s car. The sun has begun to set, casting their surroundings in a vermillion glow. Chester could barely recall the last time he's seen a sunset during workdays. They'd always work until night fall. Today would've been the same had Rick not called for an early dismissal because, “Mike’s no good dead on his feet.”

If Chester could kiss Rick square on the lips, he would. Sort of. Maybe. If it feels nice. He doubts that his bushy beard would feel good against his lips, no matter how silky they look.

Chester couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Mike’s sudden address. It’s the first time Mike properly regarded him since Chester sang. Mike had spent the rest of the day avoiding Chester, gluing himself close to Brad.

Which is good. Maybe. Probably. In terms of the love potion shit. Well, Chester expected Mike and Brad to be exchanging spit by now but hey, baby steps.

Unless they found a closet while nobody’s looking to just that. Then good for them.

But the fact that Mike was avoiding him doesn't sit well with Chester. But that's another battle for another day.

“I mean, you’re always singing and I—”

“If I wanted the spotlight for myself,” Chester interrupts, flashing him an assuring grin, “I would’ve been against you singing from the get-go.” They come to a stop. He lays a palm on Mike’s shoulder but quickly pulls away when Mike stiffens. “You really do have an amazing voice. And you really sell the emotion behind the song. I don’t think I could’ve pulled it off the way you did.”

“But…I don’t know, man.” Mike pokes at the ground with the tip of his Converse. “I just feel guilty. I mean, that’s why you’re here, you know?”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, Mike. I’d be glad to let you sing. You have an amazing voice. It’s about time to show it off.” When Mike doesn’t react to that, Chester gingerly holds out his hand. “May I?”

A knowing smile creeps over Mike’s lips as he meets Chester half-way. It takes him back to sleepy nights and tossing back shots of vinegar.

“You’ll be great. You’re an amazing singer. The band loves your singing and so does Rick. You know? Rick freaking Rubin? The legend and icon?” Mike chuckles at that. Chester barely suppresses his own grin. “And, I love it. You have a voice of an angel. Yes, I said it. Stop giggling, you asshole. If my opinion even matters to you—”

“It always does."

“Then, you’d know that you have one of the best voices I’ve ever heard,” Chester says firmly. “But as much as I'd love for you to do this, it’s up to you if you wanna do it at the end of the day. If you want me to sing it, just say the word. But something tells me you wanna sing it.”

Mike nods slowly, smile broadening. “Yeah, I do. Thanks Chester. This really means a lot to me.”

Chester's heart skips a beat, followed by that weird ass stirring in his stomach. God, what's up with him lately?

"Anytime, man." Chester pulls away, returning his palms back to his jeans' pockets. "So, if you ever wanna take over vocal duties, just say the word. I'm game.”

Mike lets out a nervous chuckle. “Same here. If you ever wanna take over rapping duties...”

Chester makes a face at that. Just the thought of him rapping makes his skin crawl. “Dude, no. I suck. I can’t rap.”

“Yes, you can," Mike insists as they resume their journey. "I’ve heard you rap.”

“That was karaoke,” Chester says defensively. “You do things you don’t do during karaoke.”

“Wouldn’t you use that logic for me and my singing?”

Chester scoffs. “Dude, you sang for work. Karaoke and work are two different things.”

"No. I can assure you they're not."

Chester shakes his head as they approach Mike’s car. “Oh no, it’s not. One day, you’ll understand.”

“I don’t need to understand because I already have.” Mike fishes out his car keys and presses the unlock button. His car makes a loud chime. “Anyway since we have the rest of the night off, what’d you plan to do?”

Chester shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t know. Maybe head back and rewatch reruns of ‘Spongebob Squarepants’ naked and drink my pain and sorrows away with ten shots of vodka.” He snickers at Mike’s alarmed glance. “Probably watch a movie or roll around in bed ‘till I fall asleep. Why?”

“Nothing…” Mike begins wringing his hands. “I just… You know… If you want company…”

Chester cocks an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Dude, I thought I told you my rule when it comes to having sex with me – I'm down only after the third date.”

If Brad’s cheeks could turn as red as a tomato, Mike’s way worse. He looks like as if he dipped his whole face in the darkest shade of blood.

“No!” Mike exclaims, almost making Chester jump, “What I meant was that, uh… You know, if you want to hang out. Watch a movie. Together. I’m not trying to sleep with you. Nope. No, sirree. Just want to, uh… Hang out. I mean, you're straight so like it wouldn't work and uh...”

Chester nods slowly, trying to process Mike’s word salad. Of all the years he’s known Mike, Chester never saw him this flustered or rattled. Even when he’s embarrassed, Mike always seemed like he has a handle on things. He’s always been the articulate one out of the two of them.

Did Chester give him the right potion? Did he give Mike an anxiety-inducing potion or something?

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting...strangely today.”

He mentally groans at that. What the fuck is he saying? Of course Mike's not okay. He's stammering and blushing because of a stupid love potion.

Mike shakes his head as he places a palm on the roof of his car, the other on his hip. “Me? Weird? No! Nope. No siree. I’m cool. Fine and dandy. You know me. Chill and…cool… Like I always am.”

“Uh huh…” Chester glances around him, searching for a tuft of curls. There are none to be found. Everybody else must’ve left for the night. Makes sense, considering Mike's car is the only vehicle parked in front of the mansion. “But aren’t you supposed to be catching up on your sleep?”

“Well, yeah. Yeah.” Mike runs his fingers through what’s left of his hair. Chester finds it both funny and endearing. It’s cute that Mike forgets most of his hair is long gone. Habits die hard, he supposes.

“But I mean… I thought we should hang out. Watch a movie or something. It’s been a while since we watched a movie together. Like we could watch it back at my place. Watch the usual, you know? It’s not even an hour long so—” He cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. “Oh god. What is wrong with me today?”

God, there's nothing wrong with him. It's all Chester. It’s his fault that Mike’s acting oddly. He made him freak out all because he’s trying to nudge Mike and Brad together. Because he made him drink some stupid love potion that might not be working.

Hopefully by the time they get together, the potion’s effects will be out of his system. Chester can’t imagine this anxiety-induced episode lasting forever. Mike won’t be the same if that’s the case.

Speaking of everybody's favorite guitarist, shouldn’t Mike be slobbering over him? Shouldn’t Mike be inviting him over instead of Chester?

Seriously, this potion is dumb as fuck. Or Chester has terrible eyesight. Could be that too. He probably should make an appointment with an optician. 

“You sure?” Chester questions, mentally praying he’s being subtle. “I mean, we always watch it together. I mean, you could watch it with somebody else. See if they’d, you know, like it. Maybe Brad or—”

“But it’s our thing,” Mike argues. “It’s our movie. We always watch it together. And I don’t want to watch it with somebody else.”

Chester’s breath hitches for some unknown reason. “Not even with Brad?”

“ _Especially_ not with Brad.”

There’s something in Mike’s firm tone that halts the gears shifting in Chester’s mind. This isn't something new. They affirm their love for each other pretty often and in various ways.

But he’s not sure if it’s the way Mike’s looking at him or the way his fingers are fiddling with his wristwatch or the sunset bathing him in a warm glow, but Chester’s stomach stirs again.

He’s still unsure of what to make of it but he would be lying if he said it didn’t feel nice. Really, really nice.

And well, it's just a movie night. They do this often. This isn't anything new. Come tomorrow and Mike would be falling all over Brad.

Hopefully. If this potion works.

Chester breaks into a smile. “Okay. Sure.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it has been almost a month since the last chapter. Sorry for the late post. I had lots of stuff to do, applying for internships and stuff. Due to that, posts will be pretty inconsistent from now on, depending on my workload. But don't worry. I vowed to finish this story and I will. No matter how long it takes lol. 
> 
> On a more positive note, next chapter might probably be up at the end of the week. This chapter was supposed to be longer but it was turning up pretty long so I split it into two parts.
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for all of your kudos! It really helps keep me going. <3


	6. The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be asleep right now. But I promised a chapter and I want to do good on that. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and supporting his story. I really, really appreciate it.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys like this chapter!

 

 

 

 

 

They grab _Taco Bell_ on the way back to Mike’s place, which now that Chester thinks about it, doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like Chester has his ride parked at Mike’s place. It’d make better sense if they watch it over at Chester’s place. He even has the DVD and all. 

Then again, he could call a cab. Or sleep over at Mike’s. 

No, wait. Scratch the last part out. He can’t sleep over at Mike’s. That’s suicide. Mike has Brad. Brad will kill him if he finds out.

Even if Chester and Mike has slept over at one another’s place, it’s not like he can keep doing it. Not anymore. Back then, Chester didn’t know Mike’s in love with Brad. But now he does and it’ll just be awkward. Everything will be awkward.

And a pissing party.

Seriously, what the hell is up with Brad today? Even after that unexpected squabble, he was still shooting Chester weird looks throughout the rest of the day. Sure, Brad has his moments sometimes but today? Out of the blue? Is he so upset about Chester not paying attention that he would spend half of his time starring daggers at him? 

But then again, he isn’t wrong. Chester should’ve been paying attention and not daydreaming about Rick’s beard. He’s so fucking stu— 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Mike’s fixing him with a curious and concerned look, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. They’ve come to a stop, the stoplight outside flashing red. 

Chester averts his gaze, narrowing his attention on the cars whizzing in front of him. “It’s nothing.” 

He could feel Mike’s stare burning into the back of his head. “Is this about Brad?”

Chester almost curses aloud at that. 

Goddamn, why is he always so observant? He should’ve said something else, like how bushy Rick’s beard is. That’ll at least elicit a laugh out of Mike, instead of concern. Mike doesn’t need to concern with Chester’s problems. 

“Yeah,” he admits. He exhales deeply, annoyed at his honesty, “sorta.”

Mike huffs. “Fucking Brad. I don’t get why he was being a dick to you today.”

Chester echoes his sentiments but he couldn’t help but be surprised. Judging by Mike’s actions throughout the whole day, he was sticking to Brad like glue and avoiding Chester like the plague.

God, he’ll never understand Mike Shinoda fully. Or the potion. Maybe he gave Mike a bipolar—

“I tried asking him about it afterwards,” Mike continues, “but he wouldn’t tell me. For some reason. All he said that he was being in a crappy mood and he didn’t mean to snap.”

Chester snorts at that. “If he was apologetic, he would’ve given me a sincere apology. Or at least talk to me like a normal human being instead like I’m…I’m...”

There’s a series of words floating around in his mind, coaxing him to spit them out.

_A nobody._

_A failure._

_A freak._

_A—_

“Chester, listen to me,” Mike says firmly. “There was nothing wrong with what you’ve done. We all have our days. Sometimes, we can’t always give our all in everything. And that’s okay. There’s no harm done.”

A lump forms in Chester’s throat. He’s heard this a million times before. Yet, it never fails to make him feel weak.

He hates it when Mike starts venturing down this path. He hates that he has to be consoled and coddled all because of his insecurities and his flaws and the voices in his head are being harsh. Harsh but honest.

“But he does have a point,” Chester mumbles, his fingers picking at his seatbelt. “It’s a band meeting. And I promised I’ll do better. But all I did was space out like back when I was high out of my mind and I’m not anymore so I should be doing better and— and…”

Oh fuck. What’s wrong with him? Why is his brain and nerves and everything acting up? What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the—?

His thoughts are cut off when he feels another palm over his.

“Progress doesn’t happen instantly,” Mike says soothingly, worrying his thumb over the back of Chester’s hand. Instantly, his nerves becomes quieter. “It’s just one baby step at a time. It’s okay.”

Chester’s about to reply to that when a loud honk interrupts them. He tears his gaze away from Mike, glancing upwards. Sure enough, neon green glaring down at them.

“Shit,” Mike murmurs to himself, pulling away from Chester. The car begins to pick up in speed.

They sit in silence for a long period, save for Patrick Stump’s yelling blaring in the background.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mike replies. “We all have our days. I’m just glad you can get it off your chest.”

“I guess,” Chester says, more to himself. He doesn’t feel as relieved as he should. In fact, it just adds to his anxiety, the questions swirling in his head.

What if Mike and Brad’s relationship is fractured again? What if they don’t get together? Chester could argue that the potion would compensate for all the hullabaloo but what if it can’t?

His friends’ chance of happiness could circle down the drain all because of him.

“—bout it.”

Chester blinks, sinking deeper in his seat. “What? Sorry I was spacing out. Again.”

God, what the hell is wrong with him?

Mike flashes him a soft smile. “I was just talking about how we should forget about Brad. It’s just the two of us. We shouldn’t be talking ‘bout him or work or the band or—”

“I mean,” Chester points out, “we do bitch about them all the time when it’s just the two of us.” Despite himself, he couldn’t help but snicker at Mike’s considering expression.

“Okay well, let’s not bitch ‘bout them this time,” Mike amends, turning a corner. “Let’s just make it about the two of us.”

Chester arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Damn Shinoda, you’re making this sound like a date.”

Mike’s gaze meets his. “What if it is?”

There's something about the way he says those words that makes his cheeks burn like a furnace and his heart skip a beat. It’s so stupid. It’s a joke. A really dumb and flirty joke they indulge in every now and then.

So why is he feeling this way all of a sudden? It’s been so long, so fucking—

Chester shakes his head fondly, mentally willing his brain to stop being a dumbass. “You wish.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Mike does good on his word. Not on the date thing because, no, but on the ‘not-talking-about-work-or-the-band’ thing.

Chester finds it easy to slip into the present with Mike. Tonight is not any different, all the negativity eclipsed by lame jokes and beef burritos.  

It’s one of the reasons why Chester’s super thankful to have Mike in his life. It’s always easy, just being with him. Mike hardly makes things complicated. Chester needs that – the open-minded attitude, the acceptance, the non-judgment towards his preferences.

Including his preferences in movies.

Seriously, especially that. He can’t recall how many laughs he’s gotten from people he knows just by defending his right to watch _Winnie-the-Pooh_ movies on his own accord.

Chester outright adores them. He grew up watching them, spending most of his time rewatching and laughing at the Hundred Acre Wood gang’s antics, be it the television shows or the movies.

They’re just amazing. Nobody should be ashamed of loving anything _Winnie-the-Pooh_. There’s nothing wrong with hanging on to some childhood favorites. He’s glad Mike thinks so too. At least there’s another adult who gets him.

“You know,” Mike begins as they watch Tigger pounce on Pooh, “the more I think about it, the more I’m sure you’re Tigger.”

Chester freezes mid-chew of his butter popcorn.

He’s gotten this sentiment countless of times before. And if this is where this conversation is going…

No. It can’t be. Mike’s his best friend. He wouldn’t think that way, would he?

_Just stay calm. Just ask him why. It’s probably nothing._

“You know I get that a lot,” Chester says, before swallowing. “Is it ‘cause I act like I take too much caffeine?”

Mike chuckles, his eyes never leaving the screen. Tigger’s busy jumping around like a hyperactive monkey while Pooh’s staring at him like a hundred Tigger heads sprouted from his ass. “Okay, well not just that.”

And just like, Chester’s grin slip off his face.

Oh. Well. Huh…

Well.

Fuck.

So many people has said this to him one too many times, his parents, the asshole kids from preschool, Sam. If Mike is inclined to agree with them, then it’s true. It has to be. Mike’s an attentive guy, he would’ve noticed too.

It’s going to be a matter of time before the truth spills out. There’s only so much Mike can do, as his pity friend.

Maybe this is it, the first crack in Mike’s façade. He doesn’t need Chester anymore. After all, he’s a way better singer now. He can throw him out like the waste of space he is.

Yeah, sounds about right.

“You—”

“—have a huge self-hatred for myself sometimes?”

Chester stills.

Okay, he didn’t mean to have that out in the open like that. Like sure, it’s the truth and sure, Mike probably echoes his sentiments but fuck, to put him in such a position…

He hopes the way he said it sounds like a joke. Chester’s made self-deprecating jokes before. It shouldn’t be surprising that he’s doing it again.

Well, sort of. Maybe. It’s hard to tell when your brain’s falling deep into the rabbit hole.

But the thing with Mike is that sometimes, he has a weird sixth sense. Like he knows when Chester’s spiraling or at least, on at the precipice of falling. He has learnt to take some of Chester’s jokes more seriously than he should.

Which frankly is his fault. You say and do certain things one too many times and suddenly your best friend’s (god knows at this point) senses are heightened to the core.

So it doesn’t surprise Chester when Mike whips his head in his direction at lightning speed. “What?”

What does he mean by ‘what’? He heard it right. It’s what he’s thinking in his head right now.

Possibly. Maybe.

But what if he didn’t? What if Mike was thinking about something else and— and—?

Oh fuck. He did it again, didn’t he? He ruined everything. He ruined the good time they were sort of having. Just when Mike started talking to him and everything is reverting back to normal, Chester fucks up.

He should backtrack, correct himself. Say he didn’t mean what he said, that Mike misheard. Anything that turns this whole situation he dug right side up.

“C’mon, Tigger does that a lot. He gets easily upset about the dumbest things like me. I don’t think it’s in this movie but if you watch all the other movies or the episodes, he gets super upset with himself. Like every time he finds himself not being able to bounce properly, he gets all emotional and upset. It’s like when I—” Chester cuts himself off because he could shoot himself in the chest. He has shot himself in the foot one too many times already.

Of course, he’ll dig a bigger hole. Of very course. He’s an idiot. Obviously, he’ll be pulling off a stunt like this.

At this rate, he probably needs to make himself a grave.

For a long moment, all is quiet between them, save for the conversation between Tigger and Pooh. Out of the corner of Chester’s eye, he watches Mike glance back at the television screen. Tigger’s pulling a disgusted face, declaring his hatred for honey, much to Pooh’s confusion.

“I… I wasn’t...” Mike clears his throat. “I didn’t even know Tigger acts that way.”

…Oh. Well. Fuck.

God, why did he think—? Shit, now Chester has put Mike in an awkward position and the night’s ruined and—

“I know.” Chester sinks deeper into the couch, the weight of his words and Mike’s crestfallen expression finally sinking in. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I just…” He exhales deeply, hanging his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like… You know. I ruined everything again and—”

“No, you didn’t,” Mike interrupts earnestly. “You’re just saying what you’ve seen. And that’s cool, man. There’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, you’re always been more perceptive than I am.”

“I guess.” Chester sighs, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s just that… I just ruined the mood. Saying stupid shit like that. It’s just that back then I… You know what, it’s nothing. You don’t wanna hear it.”

He instantly regrets the last sentence because Mike reaches for the remote, muting Pooh and gang for the moment. He does that when he wants to get into some serious shit. Chester hates that Mike’s doing all this because of him.

See if Mike had just asked Brad instead, they would be making out to the Heffalump and Woozle song instead of babysitting Chester the Dumbass. Not the best song to get freaky to but still. It’s better than trying to play counselor.

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay?” Mike says, as he turns to face him, crossing his legs on the couch. “And whatever it is on your mind, I wanna hear it. I always do.”

“It’s stupid.”

“I doubt it is.”

“No, really. It is.”

“It can’t be stupid if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Chester snorts. “Please, my brain is filled of the dumbest shit ever. Like I was thinking about Rick’s beard during the band meeting. You can’t tell me that’s not stupid.”

He expects an agreement in the form of laughter. Instead, Mike’s solemnly pressing his lips in a thin line. “Wanna know something dumb?”

Chester nods his head.

Mike lips tug to the side. “I was thinking about how much cuter it’d be if Eevee was the mascot of _Pokémon_ instead of Pikachu while Rick was giving Dave tips just now.”

A quiet gasp falls out of Chester’s lips. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You fucking asshole.”

Mike snickers. “I mean, really. Eevee’s awesome. It evolves to a lot of different forms. Pikachu’s just like, what? An electric mouse that evolves to a bigger electric mouse?”

Chester tosses a piece of popcorn at Mike, who skillfully plucks it out of the air. “You asshole. Pikachu’s a good kid.”

“Still not as good as Eevee.”

“Tell that to the rest of the world.”

“That’s because Pikachu’s the mascot,” Mike retorts as he slips the popcorn between his lips. “Anyway, the point is that whatever you’re thinking right now is valid, even as dumb as you might think it is.”

Chester’s smile diminishes a little. “It’s just that… I mean, lots of people have told me that I’m like Tigger. Which is fine. I mean, I love Tigger. He’s great. It’s just that they make it like it’s such a bad thing and—” He fingers at the popcorn in the bowl propped on his lap. “I guess, I just thought you were gonna say something similar.”

“Like what?” Mike asks softly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“That I’m way too hyper like him,” Chester replies, trying his best to sound neutral. Don’t think before I do anything. Stupid like him. I don’t know. Stupid stuff like that.”

Mike shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’re not stupid and so is Tigger. Whoever said that are idiots.”

“I mean, if a lot of people are saying that—” Chester pauses, inwardly cringing on his cracked voice. He’s not going to be upset about something like this. Definitely not over something a bunch of assholes have told him years ago. He harrumphs, gaze falling onto his bowl. “If a lot of people are saying that, it has to be true, right?”

“No,” Mike answers softly. “Just because a lot of people think that way, it doesn’t mean they’re right.” He leans forward, intertwining Chester’s butter-coated fingers with his. “What I wanted to say is that, you’re the heart of the band. Just like how Tigger’s the heart of the Hundred Acre Wood gang.”

Chester frowns. “Since when’s Tigger the heart? Isn’t that Pooh? And how the hell am I the heart of the band?”

“Okay, maybe Tigger isn’t the whole heart, but he’s a part of it. And yes, you definitely are the heart of the band. You’re always there, armed with jokes to pick everybody up, lending a hand whenever anybody needs help. And Tigger’s like that. He tries picking up Eeyore and helping Piglet with his fears. And that’s you.”

Chester doesn’t reply for a long moment, letting the words sink into his mind. “Really?”

Mike nods, an assured smile spreading across his lips. “Really. It’s the truth, you know? Even if you don’t believe it, I do.”

Chester mirrors the gesture, his anxiety plummeting instantly.

Fuck, how can he think Mike hates him, not when he forgives this easily for fucking up a perfectly good night, not when his words are uttered so earnestly, so sincerely.

Mike’s love for his genuine. And Chester needs to remember that.

Maybe this moment isn’t so bad. Moments like this show him how amazing and genuine Mike is as a friend and a human being.

Chester’s about to tell him that when he notices Mike’s line of sight.

It’s on his lips.

Why the hell is he looking at his lips? Are there crumbs on it? A stain from the burrito? Are they chapped?

The warmth in his stomach returns. His ears are filled by quickened thumps of his heart.

Chester’s attention flickers back to Mike’s eyes. Most people think they’re black, which is not entirely wrong. They’re a dark shade of brown, like an americano.

But right now, they’re much darker, with a glint of…desire?

But that can’t be right, right? Mike shouldn’t be wanting him. But then why’s Mike getting closer and closer and—

“Hey,” he murmurs huskily, their lips inches apart from one another, “can I—?”

“Hey, the movie’s still on mute.”

And just like that, the heaviness in the air dissipates.

Mike’s eyelashes flutter as he jerks backwards like he’s been stung. “Right,” he mutters as he reaches over for the remote.

Chester swallows hard, willing his racing pulse to slow.

What in the world just happened? What the hell was that? Did Mike try to…?

No, it can’t be. He’s doused with a love potion with Brad’s fucking DNA. He can’t want to… He can’t want Chester. At all.

That’s just crazy talk. It’s probably his brain and his eyes being stupid. It must be a mistake. It has to be.

But if it is a mistake, they shouldn’t be sitting in awkward silence right now. Mike shouldn’t be sitting as straight as he is or fiddling with the lint of his plaid shirt. Mike should be commenting about Eeyore floating down the river or cracking a silly joke or something. Anything but what he’s doing right now.

God, did Chester mess up again? But what did he do this time? Did he—?

No, he can’t. Not again. He can do this. He can regain his balance, avoid falling back down the hole. He just needs something to distract him and hopefully cheer Mike up.

If Mike’s right about what he said before, he can instantly bring a smile back to Mike’s face.

“What ‘bout you?”

Mike gives him a sideways glance. “What about me?”

“Who you’re like. Out of the characters.”

Mike’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know, actually,” he finally says after a moment. He reaches over to scoop popcorn in his palm. “I don’t think I’m like anybody, really.”

“Hmm…” Chester turns back to the movie. Right now, Rabbit’s upset with Tigger, ordering him to leave Eeyore’s birthday party, much to Roo’s protest. “Maybe Christopher Robin.”

“Seriously?” Mike arches an eyebrow, disbelief written over his face. “The wisest person in all of the Hundred Acre Wood?”

Chester lays a hand over his heart, feigning pain. “Ouch, way to hurt Owl’s feelings.”

Mike snorts. “I did say ‘person’.”

“But there’s only one person in the Hundred Acre Woods,” Chester reminds him.

“True. But still, why Christopher Robin?”

Okay, well now he’s stuck at that. The only reason why he said Christopher Robin is because he sounded pretty wise at getting all of them to play Poohsticks as a solution to their problems. He’s not even sure if Mike and Christopher has any other similarities and— Oh wait.

No, they do. A couple, in fact.

“Well, you’re smart,” Chester begins, sorting through Christopher’s personality traits. “Really, really smart. And kind. You’re so nice that even though everybody are acting like dumbasses, you’re not judgmental of them. Just like him. Plus, you have the best brain. Like, your brain is full of awesome ideas and you’re super creative. You come up with pretty cool shit that I’ve never thought of. And mature. You’re mature and thoughtful but you’re also fun and childish too. In a good way. Just like Christopher Robin’s.”

Mike tilts his head in the side, eyebrows arched. “Wow. That’s… Well…”

“I’m right on the money, aren’t I?”

Judging by the grin Mike’s unsuccessfully fighting off, Chester definitely is.

“Well, maybe. But what about my bad qualities?”

“You don’t have any.”

Mike scoffs. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

Chester pelts him with another popcorn. It bounces off Mike’s shoulder. “No, it’s not.”

They spend the rest of the movie arguing about it, chucking popcorn at each other every now and then. They only stop when the credits roll.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

At some point between switching DVDs, silly commentary and munching of butter popcorn, Chester finds himself drifting off, dreaming of agitated Pooh Bears, hyper Rabbits, and honey-loving Tiggers. He wakes up to the credits rolling and Mike sound asleep on his shoulder.

It’s not the first time this has happened. They’ve always fallen asleep in between movies on each other, be it on shoulders or laps.

The first time Chester fell asleep on Mike’s lap, it was hilarious. Well, for Chester anyway. Mike was red with mortification because he was having an erection.

Damn, maybe he really wasn’t as straight as Chester thought he was.

But whatever. That’s not important. What’s important is that he should leave.

For some reason, having Mike sleeping next to him doesn’t sit well with Chester. Don’t get him wrong, having Mike pressed against him feels comfortable and warm. He wouldn’t live, if he could. Which he could do.

But then, there’s that Mike-Brad thing. Would Brad appreciate whatever this is going on? It’s not like he’d know though but…

God, he should go but this feels so nice and he doesn’t want to wake Mike up and—

Chester could imagine Pooh peering down at Mike, paw over his mouth. “Oh bother,” he’d say because he wouldn’t have any idea on what to do too.

He chuckles at the thought of it. _Oh bother, for sure._

As if on cue, there’s a slight shift next to him.

“Ches?” Mike mumbles, detangling himself from Chester’s body. Chester silently mourns the loss of his warmth. But the disappointment doesn’t last long because Mike is melting his heart.

He’s said before and he’ll say it again – half-asleep Mike is an adorable sight, with his droopy eyelids and lazy smile. Chester doubts he’ll ever get enough of him. He’s just so cute.

Chester would count Mike’s tousled hair but since he vowed to join the military in spirit, his cuteness is taken down a notch.

“Sorry,” he says, finally free to rub the sleep from his eyelids with the back of his hand. At least he’s awake enough to know that his fingers are still oiling no thanks to the butter popcorn. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No, it’s fine. I…” Mike wipes his face with a palm, before lightly tapping himself on the cheek. “Shit. We were supposed to be hanging out and I fell asleep.”

“Hey, sleeping together is hanging out.”

Mike’s slapping comes to a screeching halt, his eyes widened.

Wait, why’s he—

Oh no.

That’s not what he meant. No.

_No._

“I mean, sleeping!” Chester exclaims hastily. “Real sleeping! Without messing around and with our clothes on and—and—”

God, why is he being such an idiot right now?

Even with the terrible lighting coming from the TV screen, Chester’s positive Mike has turned cherry red again.

“Yeah,” Mike utters nervously. “Just sleeping. With our clothes on.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve done this before. It’s nothing new.”

“Yeah,” Chester echoes. “Yeah. I shouldn’t be making this weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

 _Yeah?_ Chester almost throws himself off the couch and onto the coffee table. _What are you, a parrot? Speak English, you dumbass. What’s wrong with you tonight?_

“Never mind,” he says. “You should be sleeping anyway. It’s probably late and I should get going.”

“No, I’m fine,” Mike insists, sitting up straighter. “We can—” A loud yawn cuts him off. He clamps a palm over his parted lips, his cheeks flushing again.

A smirk tugs at Chester’s lips. “And there it is.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Chester rolls his eyes. “Can’t beat facts, my man. You of all people should know. And anyway, you should sleep. Imma head home now and leave you to your wet dreams and shit.”

His ass is halfway off the couch when Mike speaks.

“You don’t have to go. You could stay for the night.”

And there it is, the moment he’s been dreading.

That isn’t new either. They’ve had many sleepovers at one another’s places, especially during nights like these.

So why in the whole wide world is Chester hesitating?

For some unexplainable reason, Mike looks more nervous when their gazes meet again. “I mean… There’s enough room for the both of us.”

“On the couch?” Chester points out dubiously.

“I meant my bed.”

Oh.

Okay.

Well.

That’s much, much worse.

“There’s enough room for the both of us,” Mike continues, “I mean, if you want to. If you don’t mind.”

Now, that’s different.

Sure, they’ve done it before, sharing beds during their Hybrid Theory days. Mike’s the only person he could actually share a bed with him. It’s a miracle, now that Chester thinks about him. They didn’t know each other as deeply as they do now. And yet, he trusts to sleep together.

But no matter how you look at it, he did it out of necessity. Chester had to steel himself and hope for the best.

This situation he is in right now? This isn’t a necessity. It’s a choice.

Even if he wholeheartedly trusts Mike, he doubts he can do that again. Not yet. Maybe one day.

And besides, shouldn’t Mike be up for cuddling Brad, not him? And most of all, Mike has guest rooms. Why doesn’t he offer up a guest room for Chester to take like he always does?

“Nah, I’m good,” Chester says, hoping he sounds casual as he thinks he is. “I don’t feel comfortable, you know…”

Mike nods slowly, disappointment blatantly displayed over his face. “Oh. Okay. That’s fine. I mean, you could stay in one of the guest rooms like you always do.”

“Nah,” Chester repeats, Brad’s face flashing in his mind. “I—”

“Dude, take it. Don’t make me throw you on it.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

Mike shakes his head, his gaze flickering down to the wooden flooring. “Shut it. Just take it, okay? It’s not like you have a ride anyway.”

Well, that’s definitely true. Not to mention that he’s half-asleep. There’s no way he could fight off a cab-driving kidnapper in this state. Mike’s offer is more tempting, the more he thinks about it.

But then, there’s Brad. But then, there’s also a nice, warm bed waiting for him just steps away.

“I could grab a cab,” Chester half-heartedly argues.

“No way. Not when you’re this tired. The cab driver could be a kidnapper.”

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Mike chuckles as he turns off the television. Immediately, they’re bathed in darkness. “Then I think we both know the answer. Sides’, we have to continue our Pooh marathon.”

“Hey, I fell asleep too,” Chester points out.

“So that means you owe me one too,” Mike says, grinning as he jumps to his feet.

Chester raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk spreading across his lips. “Are you asking me out on a date, Shinoda?”

Mike shrugs his shoulders as they make their way towards the guest bathroom. “Well, uh… I mean, you know… Rick’s right. I need a break.”

“We’ve been telling you this for weeks, man.”

Mike fails to fight off a smile. “Oh, clamp it.”

They stop in front of the doorway. Chester flips the switch. Light pools into his line of sight suddenly, forcing him to squint. “So you wanna continue the Pooh marathon, right?”

Mike moves to sit on the edge of the bathtub as Chester turns the sink faucet.

“Yeah, sure. Or maybe go to the cinema. Or dinner or lunch or whatever. Anything’s good.” He pauses. “With you.”

Chester cocks his head to the side, pausing washing his hands. Man, is he glad his fingers are not coated in butter anymore and his eyesight is adjusting to the bathroom lights.

“That does sound good,” he echoes. “Like tomorrow afternoon or night or…?”

“Er… I think—” A yawn tumbles out of Mike’s lips suddenly.

Chester finds himself smiling at that. God, Mike really is adorable. He can’t fathom why he’s still single.

Then again, it might change soon. Very, very soon.

“We can figure it out tomorrow. You should sleep.”

Mike breaks into a grin of his own. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Chester swallows the urge to laugh. Suddenly, some of the fatigue he’s feeling vanishes. “As much as I’d like to continue this, I should hit the sack. I feel like I’m gonna topple over.”

“Does that mean you’re sleeping over?”

Chester takes a moment to consider it.

Eh, why not? It’s not like Brad would know. Besides, it’s not like they’ll be sleeping together. They’re just sharing a house for the night. Plus, they’ve been doing this for a while now. Why should they change their routine because of that?

“Yeah, I am. And you—” He jabs a finger at his best friend. “—need some sleep.”

Mike breaks into a grin. “Okay.”

“Mike. Stop.”

“Okay, okay. I—”

They both break into a fit of giggles.

God, they really both need sleep. This is ridiculous.

“Mikey,” Chester begins, trying his best to sound serious, “sleep.”

“I will,” Mike replies. “If you would stop wasting my water bill and wrinkling your fingers.”

It’s a lame joke. It doesn’t stop either of their half-asleep selves from bursting into laughter.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Operation Delnoda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so it's been a while since the last update. I'm really sorry about that. Life just got really hectic for me. 
> 
> Regardless, hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Would love to know what you guys thought of it! :D

 

 

 

 

 

According to most people, Mike and him have a weird relationship.

Apparently, having a room reserved for one another in each other’s places is weird, which both of them have adamantly disagreed countless times. They’ve always spent a lot of time together. It just seems convenient to have a room filled with their own clothes and necessities in each other’s places. You never know when you gotta stay over anyway. Besides, it’s better than wrecking the guest room, anyway.

Which is one of the reasons why Chester can’t figure out why Mike proposed they share a bed. They both know that Chester has a room here.

God, that man doesn’t make sense sometimes.

Good thing they’re alone in this house tonight. Otherwise, Chester would be bombarded with countless comments about how they’re secretly in love with one another and should just ‘cave in and move in together’.

Which now that Chester thinks about it, they do have a point. They’d be saving a lot of money and time. Not that they’re in need of cash, but it’s still good to do so.

But that’ll be weird with Brad in the picture.

Chester sighs deeply as he rolls onto his back, his gaze trained on the ceiling fan whizzing above his head.

He’s positive it’s past midnight already. Maybe even three in the morning. He should be sinking deep into the confinements of his covers, falling into a restful slumber.

Problem is that he’s Chester Bennington so obviously shit like that is off the table.

There must be something that went wrong during the whole potion brewing process. Otherwise, Mike wouldn’t have spent his night watching a movie with him and asked him out the next day. He’d be fucking Brad into his bed, not rolling around his bed by himself. He’d be planning a date with Brad, not Ches—

Wait. No. No, no, no, no, no. Why did his brain go there, inserting himself in this non-existent love triangle?

“He just wants to hang out as friends,” Chester whispers to the void. “We do it all the time. As friends. Totally not as like I’m-interested-in-you-and-I-wanna-fuck-you way. Yeah, it can’t be. He drank the potion. He shouldn’t be in love with me.”

Unless…

Unless the stupid thing didn’t work and Mike has been in love with him this whole time.

The thought of it all makes his chest stir and his stomach flip and ugh, why is he feeling so jittery all of a sudden?

A loud groan escapes his lips as he yanks the covers over his head. Immediately, he’s enveloped by darkness and warmth.

“Stupid,” Chester mutters. “There’s no way Mike’s in love with you. You’re his best friend. Then again, Brad is also Mike’s best friend _but_ you’re an idiot. You’re a divorcee who used to snort cocaine and get drunk and high every chance he got. Mike wouldn’t go for people like you. He’ll go for people like Brad and Anna.”

Brad and Anna.

People who are in Mike’s league. Chester isn’t in his league and never will be. Hell, he’s barely in the same ballpark as him. He’s somewhere far, far away in the middle of Antarctica.

His breath hitches at the thought of it.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He’s starting to spiral again. He can’t. Not over something stupid as this.

It shouldn’t matter whether Mike’s attracted to him. Chester isn’t attracted to guys like that. He shouldn’t be worrying whether he’s good enough to date guys, let alone Mike who has a love potion with Brad’s DNA in his bloodstream for Christ’s sake.

Another groan tumbles out of his lips as he tears the covers over his head, the cool night air gentle against his face.

But then if Mike’s into Brad, why the flying fuck aren’t they together this moment? Did the effects already wear off? Did the stupid potion even work in the first place? Does Mike’s idiocy defy even the laws of witchcraft and wizardry itself?

Chester wouldn’t put it past him.

Which means, Chester’s work is still not done. He still has to play Cupid. Hopefully for the last time too because, fuck, he’s so close to handcuffing them together, locking them up in prison, and throwing away the key until they confess.

Not that he has any access to handcuffs or a prison cell but whatever. He’s sure there’s some at the nearest sex shop for the handcuffs. The prison cell would be a problem.

Though the question remains – how is he going to get them together? Chester could get the handcuffs and force them together and—

Wait. Hold on.

He could do that. Things might go down badly. Mike could kill him. Brad might— Scratch that, Brad would _definitely_ kill him.

However this time, Chester has the power of witchcraft and wizardry on his side. And if that shit doesn’t work, he has the power of love. And according to Céline Dion, it’s a formidable force.

Flopping back onto his stomach, Chester inches over to the side of his bed to swipe his glasses and phone off the bedside table.

He can do this. Mike and Brad can still come out of this together as a couple. All Chester needs to do is nudge them in the right direction and the rest will fall into place.

After all, he has both magic and love on his side.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Operation Delnoda (combining his friends’ last names is genius and as stupid as ‘Delnoda’ sounds, it’s much better than ‘Brake’ or ‘Miad’) is going to be quite simple. It’ll be much simpler than locking them up in a closet because One: There isn’t a delusional Joe Hahn ready to pounce Chester. Two:…

Well, Two could be Mike and Brad having a better time in a cinema instead of a stuffy and crowded closet?

Anyway, the point is that this plan is going to work. It’s foolproof if the effects of the potion haven’t worn off yet.

Which now that he thinks about it, that’s another thing he has to worry a—

“Hey. Ches? Chester?”

Chester whips his head upwards, barely missing Mike’s waving palm by an inch. “What?”

Mike has a look of concern and curiosity on his face as he returns his hand to his side. Hovering over them is a woman with bushy curls in a ponytail, tapping her pencil against her notebook.

“Your order, sir?” she asks politely.

Oh, right. He’s not spacing out at home. He’s spacing out at a diner.

How the hell could he drift off here? The bustle around him is almost deafening, no thanks to the wailing baby two tables away and the boisterous conversations from other patrons.

“I’m so sorry for making you stand there,” Chester apologizes to the waitress, “I was spacing out. I’m an idiot.”

The waitress returns a smile of her own, a blush of pink dusting her copper skin. “It’s not a problem. Don’t worry about it.”

She takes his order down – eggs and bacon, his favorite – and hurries away to attend to another booth. As she rushes off out of earshot, Mike leans forward, wrapping his fingers around his mug. “You’ve been staring at your coffee in silence for the past few minutes. Something on your mind?”

Chester shakes his head vigorously as he lifts his mug to his lips, hoping the panic welling inside him isn’t as pronounced as he thinks it is. It’s times like these he’s thankful for coffee, even if it’ll ruin his anxiety levels later in the day.

Stupid caffeine. If only diners invested in decaf. And a better roast because this is disgusting. It tastes like watery mud. Chester would’ve opted for a different diner had Mike not randomly declared this place to be his favorite his town.

Oh, the things he does in the name of friendship.

“No, no. I’m good. I was just…just thinking of where we should head off to later. Like a… Like watching a movie.”

Chester almost slaps himself in the face at that.

Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to say that yet. He was supposed to casually slide that in while they’re tucking in. People are more agreeable to anything when they’re distracted by food.

God, he really is an idiot.

Fortunately for Chester, Mike doesn’t seem to pick up on anything.

“A…movie?”

“Yeah. I thought you said you wanted to hang out today?” He frowns. “Unless I misheard you and…”

“No, no!” Mike exclaims, almost knocking down his mug. “I mean… We could. You know, hang out. I just thought, uh… You don’t wanna continue our Winnie-the-Pooh marathon?”

Just the mention of Pooh almost breaks Chester. They’ve been itching to get to the Halloween movie but hadn’t gotten around to it.

But no, that can wait for later. It’s on DVD. Love isn’t. The answer’s crystal clear.

“Nah, maybe next time. I mean, we’ve seen Pooh a bazillion—”

“Not a real word.”

Chester scoffs. “Party pooper.”

Mike snorts as he takes another sip. He’s pinning Chester with a slight curl of his lips. For some reason, it’s a little unnerving.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Mike replies. “It’s just that you’ve never turned down a Winnie-the-Pooh marathon before.”

Fuck, he’s onto him. God, why does Chester have an obsession with a kids’ show?

“Which exactly proves my point,” Chester points out, shifting in his seat. It takes every ounce of his willpower to not jiggle his foot or tap his fingers on the table. “We’ve seen them so many times. Maybe we should check something else out for a change?”

The suspicion behind Mike’s gaze dims. “Like what?”

A long pause settles in, the sounds of chatter and wailing (god, there’s two of those little devils now) filling the air.

Shit, Chester should’ve seen this coming. It’s a reasonable question. How could he have not prepared for this?

“Er…” he chews on his lip, racking his brain for a movie title. It’s been forever since he’s been to the cinema or heard of any upcoming movies.

He’s so fucking screwed.

“Well… I haven’t been to the cinema in a while. So you know, Anything’s good.” He spreads his hands. “Anything you want.”

Mike’s skepticism returns. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Chester echoes. “You know, as long as it’s around noon.”

Oh god, not again.

Mike’s other eyebrow arches. “Noon?”

Shit, shit, shit. Why’s Chester shit at lying? Or the better question is why’s Mike so perceptive?

Why is he best friends’ with someone as perceptive as him?

“I have an errand to run in the evening,” Chester lies. “Gotta get those groceries, you know?”

Mike nods slowly. “Sure. Cool, cool, cool. It’s fine with me. Mm-hmm.”

There’s a weird edge to Mike’s speech but Chester chalks it up to the potion. That is if it’s still in Mike’s system.

“Great!” Chester exclaims as he takes another sip of coffee, inwardly wincing. “So that’s settled. We just need to make a quick trip back to your place later and—”

“What for?” Mike asks, perplexed. “We can just head over there after breakfast.”

“We could,” Chester says. “But dude, c’mon.” He gestures towards Mike’s clothes – gray plaid and black jeans. “You need to get into more…cinema-appropriate clothes.”

“Cinema-appropriate clothes,” Mike repeats dubiously. “Dude, we’re going to the cinema. Nobody’s going to see us in the dark or care about what we wear.”

If this is a normal situation, Chester would be inclined to agree. But if Mike doesn’t dress up, Operation Delnoda would be at stake.

Or maybe a little. If Mike wears a gunny sack, Brad would still think he’s the most breathtaking person to walk this planet.

“Besides,” Mike continues, crossing his arms on the table, “what is? Suit and tie?”

“‘Course not,” Chester answers. “But c’mon man, I’m sure you own at least something that isn’t plaid.”

Mike fixes him with an offended look. “What’s wrong with plaid?”

“Nothing,” Chester says hastily. “I mean as hot as I think you’re in them, you might wanna dress up a bit.”

Mike tilts his head to the side, his frown deepening. “You—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the waitress is back with a plate in each hand – chocolate chip pancakes for Mike, eggs and bacon for Chester.

Chester makes a mental note to leave her a hundred dollar tip.

Like food always does, it shuts the both of them up.

For five minutes.

“You’re hiding something,” Mike remarks, settling his cutlery on the edge of his plate.

Chester freezes, a piece of bacon hovering over his lips. “No, I’m not. That’s dumb.”

Mike heaves an exasperated sigh. “Dude, I know when you’re lying. You’re not looking me in the eye.”

Ah, fuck.

Chester’s gaze flickers upwards, meeting Mike’s quizzical expression.

Shit, this isn’t how things are supposed to turn out. Operation Delnoda shouldn’t be derailing like this.

Fuck, if he hadn’t said all that stupid stuff, none of this would’ve—

“Are you trying to set me up with someone or what?”

Everything around them comes to a standstill.

Chester digs his fingers into the insides of his palm, wrestling the urge to throw himself out the window.

Jesus, why is Mike always on the money?

“Please,” Chester says, his heartbeat quickening. “Why would I set you up with someone when you have me?” He tosses his friend a wink. “‘Sides, it’s a surprise.”

God, this better work. Hopefully, his voice sounds even enough that Mike would be convinced.

The fire behind Mike’s eyes comes to a simmer as he flushes deeply. “A good surprise?” he utters shyly.

Chester almost lets out a relieved sigh. Operation Delnoda is still on course.

Chester leans back, hands behind his head as he plasters on a grin. “Definitely a good surprise.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After breakfast, Chester insists on dressing Mike up for their sort-of movie date thingy because Chester’s a fashion icon and Mike is not.

It doesn’t take him long to pull together an outfit that any sane person would fall deeply in love or lust with Mike –  a dark blue denim shirt over a white T-shirt, light grey jeans, and black Converse. Simple yet effective.

Hell if Chester isn’t straight, he would’ve pounced him right there and then. Then again, Chester’s certain that Mike would turn any straight guy gay or bi or pan.

Seriously, Mike looks hot. Stunning. Fuckable. If he plays his cards right, he and Brad would be having a great time tonight. Like all the good sex and—

Okay, he needs to stop thinking about them fucking. Chester can’t subject himself to that because, ew.

To throw Mike off his scent, Chester has to step out on his own T-shirt and jeans combination, opting for something much better.

“You look, uh…” Mike begins, rubbing the back of his neck as Chester makes his way towards him. “Really good. Like really good. Like uh… Well…”

Chester suppresses the urge to chuckle. Mike has been like this since breakfast, jittery and antsy. Chester would’ve blamed it on the caffeine if Mike hadn’t drunk a whole mug instead of five like he always does.

Chester shakes his head fondly. “Like an angel that was sent down from heaven to seduce you?”

Mike flushes red again, crossing his legs and sitting up straighter on the couch. “I, uh, well…”

He chews the corner of his lip. That stirring feeling in Chester makes an unnecessary comeback.

“I was… Uh… Leather?”

Chester adjusts the sleeves of his leather jacket, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “I thought of trying something new.”

Usually, Chester’s confident in his fashion sense. Every outfit he dons is something he’s into a hundred percent.

But there’s something in the way that Mike’s staring at him that returns that stupid feeling in his stomach and fuck, he hates it but he also kind of likes it and—

“I don’t remember you bring that, uh, over.”

Chester barks out a laugh. “Honestly? Me either.”

Mike breaks into a soft grin as he jumps to his feet. “You look really good in it. Like really, really good.”

‘Good’ is too general to be a description in Chester’s book, but the way Mike says those words settle his nerves.

“You should wear leather more often. It really does, uh…” Mike clears his throat, his gaze flickering towards the ceiling. “It makes you look good.”

“Is there a different word you could use instead?” Chester asks sweetly, planting his hands on his hips.

Mike takes a careful step forward, leaving little room between both of them. “Uh… Drop-dead gorgeous?”

Chester snorts out a laugh, his cheeks warming. “Well, I’ll take it.”

Mike lets out a chuckle his own, his breath tickling Chester’s lips. “I’m glad you will.”

And just like that, something shifts in the air, pulling them closer to each other. In fact, why’re they even leaning towards each other and why’s Mike looking at him like that and why’s—?

“Hey,” Chester blurts out abruptly, “we should get going. We don’t wanna be late, right?”

Mike jumps away in a flash, moving to duck his head. “Yeah,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s speaking more to himself than Chester. “We should go.”

Before Chester could reply, Mike’s out of the door in an instant.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The car ride to the cinema is awkward, to say the least. Every time Chester tries to initiate conversation, Mike either pretends to not hear him or spits out a close-ended answer.

Chester can’t comprehend why. It’s not like he said something stupid. All they did was compliment each other and then Chester said that they should head out.

It’s true though. If they dawdle several minutes more, they’ll be late. Plus, Chester hates keeping other people waiting. Not that Mike knows but it still doesn’t warrant the cold shoulder he’s been receiving.

Jesus, he’s sick and tired of this stupid mind-games Mike’s playing. Who does he think Chester is? They may be friends, but fuck, Mike shouldn’t be taking their friendship for granted like this. Chester isn’t a boomerang or a yo-yo, or even a fucking doormat. As much as he treasures Mike, he won’t be used like this.

It’s already terrible enough that Mike’s being an asshole. There’s this weird feeling sprouting in Chester, intensifying as they inch closer to their destination. It’s unlike that stirring sensation, more akin to something more to fear. Maybe even emptiness.

Chester clenches his fists, exhaling sharply.

“What’s wrong?”

They’ve comes to a stop at the final traffic light of their journey. For Mike anyway.

“Oh, so _now_ you wanna talk to me,” Chester snaps, whipping his head to his left.

Mike averts his gaze, choosing to fiddle with the radio dial. “I, uh…” He exhales through his nostrils. “Sorry, I just… Never mind. It’s not important.”

“Why not?”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Mike points out as he settles on a station that’s blasting Fall Out Boy’s ‘Dance, Dance’. “You seemed distracted. Do you…? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Chester questions as the traffic light turns from red to green. It’s the shortest red light he’s ever chanced upon. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Mike insists. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Says the guy who froze up on me ten minutes ago.”

Out of the corner of Chester’s eye, Mike’s Adam's apple bobs.

The discomfort in the atmosphere thickens as Patrick Stump’s piercing vocals fill the silence. To distract himself from his muddled thoughts and emotions, Chester examines himself in the mirror.

If Brad’s in Chester’s place, he would be doing the exact same thing. Even though they’re friends and bandmates, Chester has always found Brad a little self-absorbed. When it pertains to his hair anyway. Every time there’s any reflective surface in sight, he’ll be zipping over to fluff it or whatever the hell he does with it.

Why Mike would go for somebody that egoistical boggles his mind.

Then again, who is he to say? He’s motherfucking Chester Bennington. He’s the embodiment of self-absorption.

 _You hypocritical fuckup_ , Chester thinks as Mike turns a corner, _You_ fucking _hypocritical fuckup. You’re the one with the obsession with clothes and the shoes and the tattoos. You’re way, way worse than Brad. It’s no wonder Sam left your stupid fucking ass or Talinda never followed up or Mike isn’t interested in you. You’re a stupid, self-centered hypocritical idiot who can’t—_

“I’m sorry.”

Chester blinks. “For what?”

“For just now. I didn’t mean to freeze up on you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

Mike nods, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I know. I just… It’s complicated.”

Chester scoffs, returning his attention to the buildings and people they’re passing by. “How can a compliment be complicated?”

He hears Mike mutter something incomprehensible. His guesses it’s Japanese.

“Look,” Mike speaks louder and in English, “how about I tell you after the movie?”

Chester flashes him an incredulous look. “You can’t even tell me now?”

Mike shakes his head. Chester exhales deeply.

The silence between them stretches on. This time, Stereophonics’ ‘Dakota’ fills in.

“What ‘bout you?” Mike asks.

“What ‘bout me?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s up with you?”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to. He really wants to. Mike always knew how to deal with him when things take a turn for the worse. After all, they need to both set the record straight about this hot/cold relationship that’s going on between them.

But then, Operation Delnoda would take a nosedive. This is a one-time opportunity and Chester’s not going to fuck this up.

Besides, Mike’s holding out on him. So why can’t he?

“After the movie,” Chester bites out, mentally pushing all the thoughts swimming in his head.

To his credit, Mike has an apologetic expression on. “But—”

“Hey, we’re here.”

Begrudgingly, Mike lets the subject go. He also doesn’t point out Chester’s sudden change in demeanor, opting to talk about what kind of movie they’d be watching. It helps distract Chester from his thoughts, feigning interest.

While Operation Delnoda remains to be the focal point of Chester’s thoughts, it’s difficult to stay on track when other stuff is fighting for his attention. He’s not going to break down here, not when Chester’s mission isn’t done. He’s going to quickly wrap this up and wallow in tears and ice-cream alone later. Like he always does.

Amazing how one little thing could fuck him up.

As Mike and Chester close the distance between them and the cinema, another thought breaks into his mind.

What if Brad’s a no-show? Maybe he decided that Chester’s a dumbass and returns to watching reruns of Arrested Development and House.

But somehow, Lady Luck has finally decided to be kind to Chester because he spots Brad’s bird’s nest from a distance.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it) for Chester, Mike does at the same time.

“Is that Brad?”

“Is that him?” Chester exclaims in the fakest voice he’s ever heard. “Well. Huh. Wow. What a coincidence.”

He has to gnaw at his bottom lip to stop himself from face-palming. Mike shoots him the iciest glare he’s seen from him in a long time.

Which is not good. Definitely not good at all.

Before Chester could come up with better words, Brad’s hawk-like gaze zeroes on them.

Oh fuck.

“Chester,” Mike hisses next to him as Brad marches towards them, “what’s going on?”

A squeaky laugh falls out of his mouth. “Surprise?” Chester says weakly as he waves his hands.

The color in Mike’s cheeks begins to drain. “You—”

“Hey guys,” Brad greets them with a grin, hands in his jeans’ pockets, “If you’re wondering, I wanted to swing by early just to check if— Mike, what’s wrong?”

Mike swallows, his gaze flickering between Chester and Brad in quick succession. He looks like he’s going to pass out at any moment, which is bad. Very, very bad.

But it shouldn’t be. This should be a good thing, right? Mike should be shocked to see Brad here. It’s part of the plan, after all.

“What’s wrong?” Mike exclaims, his voice a couple of octaves higher than usual. “What’s wrong is what’re you doing here?”

Brad’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What the hell are you talking ‘bout? You’re the one who—” His eyes widen as if an epiphany has struck him. “Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

Brad whips his head at Chester, his mess of a hair flying along. “Bennington, what the hell is all this?”

“Nothing!” Chester replies quickly, the anxiety inside him rising. “Nothing at—”

“Are you setting us up?” Mike demands. Brad’s lips part in shock. “I told you, I—”

“Look,” Chester snaps, “just be grateful, okay? I did the work you both won’t put in because you both are cowards.”

Mike shoots him a fiery glare that definitely would’ve set Chester on fire if he could do so. Brad fixes Chester with a puzzled look. If it isn’t for the situation, Chester would’ve found it funny that the two of them swapped personalities.

“What the fuck are you—?”

“Guys,” Chester interrupts Brad, “seriously. Just ask each other out, fuck or do whatever you’re into and be done with it. I’m tired of you guys dancing around each other. Just get it all out from your system because you guys are pining like idiots and I can’t stand it. I really can’t. You guys are either the biggest cowards or the blindest idiots in the universe.”

Both of his friends turn a deep crimson. Guilty as charged.

“But—”

“Okay now if you’d excuse me,” Chester begins, flashing them a syrupy grin in turn, “I’m gonna skedaddle. You guys have fun.”

“Ches—”

Before Mike could finish this sentence, Chester is already on autopilot, dashing away.

Much to his surprise, neither of them chase after him. If they did, it would’ve been a hopeless cause. Chester isn’t hitting the gym for fun.

The last thing he hears is an, “Asshole.” Probably Brad. It sounds like a Brad thing to say.

Chester makes sure he’s a couple of blocks away when he flags a cab down.

Well, that’s that. Operation Delnoda is a success. Even though he didn’t expect the meeting to be as heated as it ended up to be, everything’s out in the air. Fucking finally out in the air. Now that they know how they feel about each other, they can finally stop giving each other those stupid looks and stop hanging around each other like that and laughing and— and—

“Hey,” the cab driver pipes up, cutting through Chester’s thoughts, “where to?”

As the cab drives off to Chester’s home, there’s a teeny-weeny thought nagging at the back of his head, buried under all of his self-defeated thoughts.

He should be elated. Satisfied. Relieved.

So why does he feel empty instead?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all Bennoda shippers, I’m sorry. XD Feel free to yell (nicely) at me in the comments section.


End file.
